Emerald Fog
by Annamia
Summary: Draco Malfoy loves Harry Potter. Harry Potter hates Draco Malfoy. When the two are landed in detention together, they must learn to get along and Draco must learn to face his feelings. But what will happen when Harry finds out? HD slash.
1. Prologue: promises

_Here it is. My big epic story. It's still being beta-ed, so chapters may or may not be changed after they're posted, but I really wanted to get it posted. The draft of the story is done, so all that's left to do is editing. That's a big job, but I hope that, in posting it, _lots_ of people will read it and tell me what they think!  
Warning: This is a HD story, but there are issues with that at the beginning. Harry gets a bit sidetracked, but that' s not permanent, I promise. Consider yourself warned.  
Note: Of course, all of this belongs to JK Rowling, not me. Well, no one in this chapter belongs to me. I do have a few OCs, but not too many. Oh yeah, and this is an alternate 6th year, with no mention of horuxes or any of that. So, with no further ado, enjoy Emerald Fog._

* * *

**Prologue: promises**

Severus Snape couldn't remember the last time he'd had company over the holidays. He discouraged it as a rule, preferring to keep to himself in summer, as during the year. For that reason, he didn't stay at Hogwarts, as much of the staff did, over the extended holidays. He'dlong ago purchased a cottage in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and it was to this country abode that he retreated to over the summer. He always purchased the necessary supplies before he left, and he could barely recall the last time he'd been interrupted mid-holiday.

He was in the process of conducting a series of particularly delicate experiments on polyjuice potion when he heard the telltale crack of Apparition. He scowled fiercely and added some boomslang skin to the mixture, carefully recording the resulting changes down to the slightest detail. Someday he would put all of his results together into a book, though he harbored no fantasies as to its popularity. Until then, he recorded every detail for the pure pleasure of reading them over and being able to key a single sentence to a particular year, experiment, and version.

There was an insistent knock on his door, and a strained voice called, "Severus?"

Severus frowned, immediately recognizing Narcissa Malfoy's voice. He walked out of the laboratory and into the living area, yanking the door open. She was dressed in dull brown robes, and a hood covered her white blonde hair. She entered quickly, and he shut the door behind her. Only then did she pull the hood off, revealing a tired, frightened face. "Severus, I need your help," she said shortly.

Severus frowned. "I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about, Narcissa," he said irritably, eager to get back to his experiments.

"You know about Lucius, I assume?"

He nodded.

"I'm worried about Draco."

Severus sighed. "When are you not worried about Draco, Narcissa?"

"It's different now. Look, Severus, will you let me explain?"

He grimaced. "You will have to come with me to the laboratory if you want to explain. I have some rather delicate experiments that cannot be left for long."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, but she followed him dutifully. She wrinkled her nose at the smell that permeated the room. "Ugh, Severus. That smells like a corpse!"

Severus merely shrugged. His own sense of smell had been substantially dulled over years of working with foul-smelling substances, and he no longer noticed the stenches that were an unavoidable byproduct of his work. "Then don't breathe."

"Severus, be serious!"

"Talk then. How is your being worried for Draco cause to burst in on me during my holidays?"

"Nothing much. I just want you to keep an eye on him."

"I suppose you intend for this to be done without his knowledge?"

"If it's possible… yes."

Severus sighed. "Narcissa, do you have _any_ idea what you are asking me to do?"

"I'm just asking you to make sure he's alright," she said defensively.

"You are asking me to spy on a very private sixteen-year old boy without his knowledge. You are asking me to learn the secrets of his life and not to tell anyone what I learn. You are asking me, in essence, to jeopardize all I have been working for."

"Please, Severus! Do this for me, I beg you!"

He carefully measured a dash of rock oil into the potion, releasing a cloud of dark brown smoke. Narcissa gagged and left the room quickly. Severus held his breath, carefully conjuring up a slight breeze to dissipate the cloud. When the air was clear again, he set the fire to a low simmering point and walked into the kitchen to find Narcissa sitting at one of his chairs, looking faintly green.

He sat down opposite her and surveyed her without a word. She didn't speak for a long time, and when she finally opened her mouth, her voice was slightly hoarse. "Severus, you are going to kill someone with your experiments one day."

"Get to thepoint, Narcissa," Severus snapped. "You did not come here to discuss what I choose to do in my free time."

Narcissa sighed heavily. "Severus, please just have a little patience! I don't see how you can have so much patience for your bubbling _things_ and so little for the rest of the world."

"Potions very rarely come to me and beg me to spy on their sons," Severus reminded her.

"And I'm not a potion. Look, Severus. I'm worried about Draco."

"Yes, that has already been established."

"He's not going to have an easy year."

"Has he ever?"

"Just _listen_!" she shouted, her voice on the ragged edge of tears. He eyed her for a moment, then rose gracefully and moved over to the pot of boiling water that always stood on his counter. He pulled open a cupboard and selected a few herbs. He dropped a small palm full of dried chamomile into a cup of water, followed by a couple linden flowers. He allowed it to steep for precisely three minutes, then carefully strained the herbs out and presented the drink to Narcissa. She took it gratefully, and sipped. He didn't speak as he made himself a similar cup, waiting for the calming property of the tea to take effect. When Narcissa finally put the cup down, she was much more composed. "Thank you," she said, nodding.

"Side effect of being steeped in potions my entire adult life," he said dismissively. "Now if you are capable of speaking without resorting to tears, then I am prepared to listen."

"I would like you to watch over Draco this year," she said carefully. "I am worried that some students will take revenge on him for what Lucius did, and I don't want him to get hurt."

"You do realize, do you not, that Draco is no longer eleven? He is quite capable, and I am sure he can keep himself out of trouble without any help from me."

"That's just the problem, Severus. The Ministry's got it in for all of us. I fully expect to be arrested sometime this year." She stopped, obviously waiting for him to object. He stayed silent. There was no point in denying the truth. "When I'm gone, he won't have anyone. How much do you think it would take for them to throw him in jail as well?"

"I still do not see why you are coming to me. It is Professor Dumbledore to whom you should be addressing these concerns."

She laughed, a scornful, bitter sound. "Severus, that old fool wouldn't do a thing He hates Draco, as you know very well. He tried to get us to take him out of school, for Merlin's sake!"

"I tried to talk him out of that," Severus cut in. "He refused to listen to reason."

She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you for that, Severus. Then you know that he won't look after Draco properly. He's just as prejudiced as everyone else in this world."

Severus sighed. "Albus is…" Severus paused, considering the proper word to use. Finally, he finished, "Albus is rather preoccupied, Narcissa."

She snorted. "With Harry bloody Potter. Totally obsessed is the word I would use, though. that wretched boy can do nothing wrong in Dumbledore's eyes."

"Aren't you grateful to Potter?" Severus asked dryly. "He saved you… saved both of us from a lifetime of servitude to the Dark Lord. From a _short_ lifetime of servitude."

Narcissa looked at him in astonishment. "Severus, are you saying that you've come to _like_ the boy?"

"Most certainly not!" Severus said forcefully. "I find the boy as arrogant and intolerable as his father. I am simply pointing out the debt we all owe to him."

"I am quite aware of that debt," Narcissa snapped. "I'm also aware of the fact that, despite everyone's best efforts, the Dark Lord is back. Obviously whatever Potter did wasn't enough."

"And so you ask me to protect Draco."

"From the wretched Ministry, not the Dark Lord," she said hastily. "I know as well as you do how vital your position as a double-agent is, and I won't ask you to do anything to compromise that."

"How generous," he said sarcastically. "Why else have you come, Narcissa?"

"Am I that obvious?" she asked in dismay, looking down at her teacup.

"I am a highly skilled Legilimens," he reminded her. "You, Narcissa, are not."

Her pale face flushed. "It's not nice to pry!"

He shrugged. "Never have I claimed to be a nice person. What else is troubling you?"

"You'll just find it in my head if I don't tell you, won't you?" He didn't answer, and she grimaced. "Yes, of course you will. Mind you, I'm not sure if I'm right or not."

"Leave out the unnecessary linguistic dances, if you please."

"I think that Draco's in love with Potter."

Severus was shocked. His thoughts raced as he struggled to think of a way to respond. The idea that Draco was gay was not astonishing. In fact, Severus had had his own suspicions for years. Harry Potter was possibly one of the most desirable males in all of Hogwarts, fame and idiocy notwithstanding. What shocked Severus was that he himself had never put the pieces together. It had been right under his nose, but he hadn't bothered to look at it. "It will never work," he said finally.

"I am well aware of that," she said impatiently. "Note that I am not asking you to bring them together. If anything, I'd rather you do your best to keep them apart. But it would be in our best interests if Draco's… interest in people like Potter were kept quiet."

"You wish me to become his confessor?"

"Only if he asks you to. Lucius beat the urge to talk about his true feelings out of Draco years ago, as I'm sure you know. But if he needs to talk, I beg you to let him talk to you. He respects you, Severus, and I know that he knows that you won't give his secrets away."

Severus groaned slightly. This was _all_ he needed. Still, Narcissa was a friend, and he himself had been worried about Draco lately, though he would never admit it. He'd known that he would agree from the moment that she opened her mouth and asked him the first time. It didn't mean he had to be happy about it, though. "How do you expect me to accomplish this?"

Narcissa looked exasperated. "I don't know, Severus! You're the one who's famous for knowing more of the castle than either Potter's gangs combined! You're infamous among the students for being able to pop out of nowhere and catch them in all sorts of mischief. Surely you can think of a way to keep an eye on Draco!"

Severus regarded her steadily. "I am capable of it, Narcissa. However, I am still not convinced why _I_ should be the one to do it. If he thinks that I am spying on him, then do you believe that he is likely to come to me as a confidant?"

"He doesn't have to know that you're spying on him."

"So you wish me to lie. How lovely."

"Severus, what do I have to do to make you do this?"

He sighed. "Do your best to stay free so that it's only for one year. Keep a low profile; leave the country if you can. I want to be able to return your son to you, not to your corpse, or worse, to your sister."

Narcissa grimaced horribly at the mention of Bellatrix. "I'll do my best to stay safe," she said seriously. "Will you watch out for Draco?"

Severus nodded. "I will," he promised grudgingly. "Now, if you have nothing else to say to me, you may feel free to leave. I have work to do."

She stood and pulled her hood back up. Wrapping her cloak around her slender form, she closed her eyes and Apparated. Severus looked at the spot where she had been for a long moment. Then, he held up his left arm in salute. "Be careful Narcissa," he said quietly. "And not just for his sake." Then he sent the teacups flying into the sink and returned to his experiments.

* * *

Minerva, too, preferred to leave the school over the summer holidays. Most years, she went off to her own home in Cambridge, but this year, with the renewed threat of He-who-must-not-be-named, she stayed in London. After the events of last June, she refused to stay at Grimmauld Place, and she sincerely doubted that it would continue to function as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. But Headquarters would almost certainly still be in London, and Minerva knew that she would be needed frequently. It was easier just to rent a small flat in Diagon Alley and move in. All in all, she supposed there were worse ways to spend her holidays. She was left alone for much of the time, and she spent it getting caught up inon the last work of her favorite authors. She was wondering just how to incorporate the newest variation on the color-change charm into her fourth year classes (Dilbert Buckley, of Spitzbergen, had discovered a simple way to add polka dots to previously colored items), and debating whether to add the skin-tone spell to the sixth year curriculum, instead of the seventh year, when there was a knock on the door to her flat. Surprised, she set down her book, carefully remembering her page, and stood stiffly to go open the door. Out of a habit she had never lost after the first war, she peered through the portal that she'd set up the moment she'd arrived, checking to see who it was.

To her surprise, Remus Lupin was looking furtively around him. She quickly opened the door, and he stepped through hastily. She closed and locked the door behind him, gesturing him farther into the sitting room. He sat wearily in one of the chairs and took off his outer cloak. It was shabbier than ever, and Minerva remembered that he was still spying on the werewolvesfor the Order. It certainly didn'tseem to have done him any good. The dark rings around his eyes, though they hadn't darkenedany, hadn'tfaded at all, and a slight frown seemed to be permanently etched into his face. She had to think fiercely to remember that he was only in his late thirties. He seemed decades older.

"Tea?" she asked automatically, suddenly wondering how long it had been since she'dlast seen Remus. Not since the end of last term, that was certain. Of course, he hadn't been particularly communicative after… well, after what had happened. And then he had been sent back to the werewolves. Minerva had argued fervently against it, but Albus had been firm, and Minerva wasn'tnearly ready to defy him when he was cloaked in his guise of Head of the Order. It would take someone far braver than her to change his mind. She thought suddenly of Mr. Potter. _He_ might be able to make Albus reconsider.

"Please," Remus told her. She pulled herself away from the future and back to the present and walked into the kitchen. It took only moments to pour two cups of tea. She hesitated in front of her herb cabinet, but finally simply served the tea without additions. She didn't remember much about potions, and she was likely to do far more harm than good.

She handed Remus his mug, and he drank gratefully. Minerva sat down on the other chair, balancing her mug on her lap as she watched him. He didn't look up for a long time, but the tea seemed to have revitalized him slightly. Finally, he said, "Thank you."

She nodded, wondering why he was here. He seemed to sense her curiosity, because he asked, "Minerva, have you heard from Harry?"

Minerva frowned. "Not since he left at the end of last term. Why?"

"Because no one has," Remus said bluntly. "Not since the end of last year."

"Did you expect anything different?" Minerva asked, looking carefully at Remus.

He sighed. "I had hoped…" he shrugged. "But apparently I was wrong."

"Do you know what he was even doing at the Ministry in June?"

Remus looked at her curiously. "No," he admitted. "Do you?"

Minerva nodded. "Albus told me." She recounted the events leading up to Mr. Potter's escape to the Department of Mysteries.

As she talked, Remus' eyes grew wider and wider. Finally, he said, "And no one's heard from him since?"

She shook her head. "But I'm not sure that he is in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment."

Remus was silent for a long moment. Then, he said, "Minerva, can you promise me something?"

She frowned, wondering just what the connection here was. She was most certainly _not_ going to go barging in on Mr. Potter's family, if that was what Remus wanted. She'd never met Lily's sister, and she had no wish to do so. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Can you keep an eye on him this year?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. That would be far less painful than she had feared. "Of course. Do you think that you had to ask?"

He sighed himself. "I didn't know," he said. "I mean, I expect that Albus will keep a close eye on him and all, but Albus tends to forget that Harry's just a fifteen-year-old boy."

Minerva nodded, recalling one of the few times that she'dbeen brave enough to confront Albus. "Do you want me to keep you informed?"

Remus shrugged. "I'm still with my… brethren, so I doubt that you'll be able to communicate effectively with me. Albus knows how to reach me, so if anything drastic happens, then let him know. He'll see that I get the news."

There was the opening that Minerva had been looking for. Hoping that she wasn't walking into trouble, she asked, "Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind?"

"Do I mind what?"

"Being sent to the werewolves."

He laughed bitterly. "Minerva, I _am_ a werewolf, remember?"

"But you're not like them," she said fiercely.

"Aren't I? I transform at the full moon, and, without the potion, I would be just as bad as the others."

She shook her head emphatically. "You're wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Thank you, but I'm sure that I don't deserve that."

She looked straight at him. "Remus, I've known you since you were eleven years old. If you were evil, I believe I would have noticed by now."

"Did you notice when Voldemort turned evil?"

She winced. "You are _not_ He-who-must-not-be-named, Remus."

"No. I'm a werewolf. In some circles, that's worse."

Minerva debated between yelling at him to shape up or being understanding. He hadbeen excluded from polite society for most of his life, after all. But even so!

"Will you keep track of Harry for me?" he asked, standing up abruptly. He was apparently as uncomfortable with the subject as she was herself.

She nodded. "Take care of yourself."

He grimaced and didn't answer.

"Promise!" she insisted. "Remus, you're the only family the boy has left, you know. You _must_ come out of this alive, for his sake, if not for your own."

Remus slumped slightly, then took a deep breath. He straightened again and shrugged on his cloak. "For Harry, I'll do my best. Thank you for the tea." He stepped through the door and walked swiftly down Diagon Alley. Minerva watched his figure disappear before turning back to her sitting room.

After a moment, she raised her right hand in salute. "Be careful Remus," she said quietly. "And not just for his sake." Then shesent the teacups flying back into the sink and sank down with her book again.


	2. 1: unwelcome encounters 1

_Author's note: Belle is my own character. Yes, I know that Hermione doesn't have a little sister, but I don't care. She was too much fun to ignore. None of the rest of them are mine, obviously.  
Random note: the breaks mark when the POV changes. In my word document, I have them as just paragraph breaks, but that doesn't work here. Sorry if the lines bug you guys._

* * *

**1: unwelcome encounters (part 1)**

Harry returned to the Dursleys still in shock. He spent the first two weeks of July shut up in his room, forcing Aunt Petunia to shove food through the cat flap they'd installed when he was twelve. Dudley was surprisingly considerate, for him, and stayed out of Harry's way. Of course, he might just have been terrified out of his wits. Harry was in no frame of mind to decide which was the true reason. He wrote to Ron and Hermione eventually, after both of them sent Howlers threatening to come and physically drag the news out of him if he didn't write, but apart from that, he refused to stay in contact with anyone. Hedwig returned every night with letters, but he left them in a stack on his desk, not even reading who they were from. He knew that eventually, he would have to come out of his self-imposed exile, but he was much more willing to keep putting it off than to actually tackle his letters.

He should have known that they wouldn't allow him to wallow in self-hatred for very long, though, and so he shouldn't have been surprised when the white car parked by the driveway turned out to be for him.

It had been a normal day so far. He hadn't taken the cooking up again when he came back, so Aunt Petunia shoved his usual slice of grapefruit through the cat flap, telling him to put the bowl out when he was done. He looked at it gloomily, wishing that he could just conjure up something more appetizing. But even with Scridgemore at the Ministry these days, it wouldn't take much to get him expelled from Hogwarts. And he was tired of the concept of magic. Watching the destruction at the Department of Mysteries had made him sick, and he couldn't bring himself to use even the smallest spell, now that he'd seen once again how easily it was corrupted. He had no choice but to eat the stuff, though, and he forced it down. Dudley, at least, got sugar on his. He thought wryly that, before Hogwarts, he wouldn't have cared. School had spoiled him, and it was harder and harder to go back to the Dursley's treatment every summer.

Once he'd choked down the last of the fruit, he pushed the bowl outside into the hallway, and flopped back on his bed. He'd memorized all the swishes of whitewash on the ceiling over the years, and he'd made it a memory recalling game. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the placement of each swish exactly. He was only about halfway through the ceiling when there was a pounding on his door. He grimaced, opening his eyes. It was either Uncle Vernon or Dudley, and he was in no mood to deal with either. With a sigh, he sat up and called, "What do you want?"

Uncle Vernon took this as an invitation to come it, and he shoved the door open. His ruddy face was redder than usual, and Harry wondered what the hell he'd done this time. He didn't remember doing anything, but that meant nothing to his uncle. Vernon Dursley was just as likely to blame Harry for something Dudley had done as for something Harry himself had. "Get up, boy," Uncle Vernon said shortly.

"Why?"

"You've got visitors."

That made Harry pay closer attention. Visitors? Who would be coming to visit _him_? "Who is it?"

"How should I bloody know?" Uncle Vernon raged. "Some of your lot, I expect. How _dare_ you invite them here!?"

"I didn't!" Harry said, looking around his room for a pair of shoes. He still got dressed every day, but he'd been slacking on the footwear lately. He suspected that, left like this much longer, he would dispense with clothes all together. Or, at least, with some of the clothes…

"Then how did they get here?"

"They looked you up in the yellow pages, how should I know?" He'd only found one sneaker, and he was despairing of finding the other one on short notice.

"They know how to use the yellow pages?"

"Some of them do." With a sigh, he kicked off his one sneaker and walked in his socks to the door. "Are you going to let me out, or am I going to have to yell through the heater vent?"

With a glare, Uncle Vernon stepped away from the door, allowing Harry to get out. The large man followed Harry down the stairs, muttering to himself as he did so. When Harry got to the landing, he glanced into the living room, and stopped in shock. Of all the people he'd been expecting, Hermione Granger and two people who were almost certainly her parents were low on the list. Maybe not the very last, but definitely very low. Uncle Vernon pushed him, and he stumbled, coming into the range of sight of the people in the living room. Hermione squealed, and put down her cup of tea to come and fling her arms around him. He hugged her back, smiling slightly for the first time since Sirius had died, and then let go. He followed her back into the living room, and leaned against the doorframe. Uncle Vernon sat down next to Aunt Petunia, and silence descended once again. Finally, Hermione said, "Mum, Dad, this is Harry. Harry, these are my parents."

He pushed himself off the wall, ignoring Aunt Petunia's hiss of breath at the thought of the fingerprints he could be getting on her wall, and moved to shake hands with the Grangers, both of whom smiled at him. As he walked back to his post, Hermione continued, "I suppose that Harry told you that we would be coming."

"No, he certainly didn't," Uncle Vernon said, shooting a poisonous glare at Harry. Harry sighed.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. Then, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight grin. "Harry, how long has it been since you read any of your mail?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Sorry about that." The comment was addressed more to the Grangers than to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Mrs. Granger smiled. "It doesn't matter. Since your aunt and uncle don't know, I'll repeat our invitation. Hermione has been working hard, and we offered to take her, her sister, and a friend on a trip to America. She suggested inviting Harry. We are leaving tomorrow morning, so when we didn't hear back, we decided to stop by here to find out if it's possible."

Harry didn't dare look at the Dursleys. It was a dream come true, or one of them, and he wanted it so badly that he was afraid that it wouldn't happen. He knew them well enough to know what they were thinking, though, and as the silence stretched on, his hopes began to rise. Surely if they'd been going to refuse they'd have done it right away. Finally, Aunt Petunia asked, "How much would this trip cost us?"

"Nothing at all," Mr. Granger assured them. "The costs are included in our offer. Harry would only have to bring his own pocket money, which I am sure he has."

Harry didn't, in fact, have any pocket money, but if he could find a place to quietly exchange galleons for muggle money, he'd be in good shape. "And how long would he be away?"

"We're going for a month," Hermione answered promptly. "He would be able to pack his things for school in time."

Aunt Petunia looked slightly disappointed, but she said finally, "I don't see any problems with his going. If he misbehaves, we are not to be held responsible."

"I am sure Harry won't be any trouble at all," Mrs. Granger assured her.

Aunt Petunia looked at Uncle Vernon, who shrugged angrily. "I don't care," he said.

"Excellent," Mr. Granger said. "Now, Hermione will help you pack, Harry, and then we'll be off."

"I thought you didn't leave until tomorrow," Harry said, confused.

"You're spending the night with us," Hermione explained. "The plane leaves at about seven o'clock in the morning, and we didn't think that it would be very productive to knock on your door at five tomorrow morning."

"I should think not," Harry agreed. "Come on."

They climbed up the stairs, hearing Uncle Vernon demand, "You're traveling by _plane_?!"

Harry stepped into his room, shrugging apologetically for the mess. "I don't clean much," he said.

"So I see," Hermione said, surveying the room. She eyed her pocket longingly, but said briskly, "We'd better get started then, hadn't we?"

Two hours later, they'd managed to pack all of Harry's things away. Hermione proved to have a talent for packing, and all of Harry's belongings somehow fit neatly into the wheeled suitcase that he'd borrowed from the hall closet. He didn't even have to sit on the lid for her to close it. She surveyed her work approvingly, then said, "Check everywhere, just in case we've missed anything."

Harry dutifully looked all over his room, coming up with a single sock and a handful of crumpled parchment, both of which he chucked in the trash. "The other one's in there somewhere," he explained, nodding towards the trashcan. "It wore out completely, and I didn't really have much choice."

Hermione shrugged. "There are other things more important that socks. You don't actually have any money, do you?"

He shook his head. "Muggle money? No. But if we find a decent place, and there's probably one at the airport in America, I can change some galleons."

She nodded, and picked up the front end of his suitcase. With him at the back, they managed to maneuver it out of the room and down the stairs.

"Right, all set now?" Mrs. Granger said. She put away the mystery novel that she'd been reading. Harry grinned slightly imagining two hours of uncomfortable silence in the company of the Dursleys.

Just as they were about to leave the house, the door burst open, and Dudley stormed in. He stopped dead when he saw Harry. "Where are you going?' he demanded.

"To America. You're not invited, Big D."

Dudley's hands curled into fists. He turned his eye on Hermione, and his face turned speculative. Harry laughed with cynical humor. "You don't want to do that, Dud. She's a witch."

All three Dursleys recoiled at the sound of the forbidden word, and Harry laughed again. It was remarkably refreshing to be able to make them this angry and know that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. Unfortunately, Dudley wasn't put off for long. "You can't do _it_ out of school."

Harry shrugged. "You sure about that, Dudley?"

"You'll get expelled," he said, but he sounded a lot less sure than he had.

"Maybe. Or then again, maybe not. You want to test that theory?"

Dudley looked undecided, and Harry took advantage of his confusion to take his suitcase again. "Let's get out of here," he told Hermione. She shrugged, and held the door open for him. Together, they managed to get out of the house without breaking anything, though Harry did try very hard to accidentally shatter the hideous painted vase that Aunt Petunia loved so much. Mr. and Mrs. Granger followed them, and Harry waved slightly at the three Dursleys as the door closed, reveling in his freedom.

* * *

Hermione watched as Harry walked away from his Aunt and Uncle's house, marveling at the way he suddenly seemed to stand up straighter. It was as though an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders, and, as he put the suitcase down to wait for her father to unlock the trunk, she realized that he was quite aware of it. "Glad to get out of there?" she asked softly. 

"You have no idea," he answered in the same tone. In a normal voice, he said, "Thank you for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

Hermione's mother shrugged good-naturedly. "It was our pleasure Harry. I'm Helen, by the way."

"I'm Roy," her father contributed.

Harry nodded. Hermione's father helped him hoist his suitcase into the car, and then Harry slammed the door satisfyingly. He got into the back seat with Hermione, and Hermione's father started the engine.

"Where exactly are we going?" Harry asked. "In America, I mean."

Hermione enthusiastically detailed the program. "We're starting on the East Coast. You know, New York City, Boston… all the really big cities. Then, we'll head west, stopping in Chicago, and dropping down to Louisiana. We should be in Denver by the third week, and we're catching the plane home from there. There are some really fascinating things in that area!"

Her mother laughed. "Don't bore him away, Diana. He's only just gotten here. You'll have more than enough time to fill him in on the flight."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Diana?"

"It's my middle name," she explained. "You know, the Roman Hunter Goddess?"

"I wanted to call her Artemis," her father complained. "But Helen wouldn't hear of it. We compromised with the middle name."

Harry nodded, understanding. "How long is the flight?"

Her mother shrugged. "About seven hours, give or take an hour."

Harry winced. "Not even the train to school takes that long!" he said.

"Hogwarts is in Scotland," Hermione said, grinning. "New York is across the Atlantic. It used to take boats _months_ to get there from England."

Harry winced. "Boy am I glad for technology," he muttered.

"You mean you'd rather technology to magic?" her father asked.

"In this case, yes. Airplanes are much more comfortable than many ways that we travel."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Have you ever actually _been_ on an airplane?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, but it's got to be better than a portkey."

She laughed. "You're right," she agreed.

They drove for a while longer, before Hermione realized something very important. "Harry, do you have a passport?"

He frowned, and dug into his pocket. He produced an identity card. "Will this do?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid not. There's no time to get one now. We'll just have to hope that you can do it at the airport."

Her mother frowned. "You're going to fake his papers?" she asked suspiciously.

"Temporarily, mum," Hermione said. "Unless you want to wait six weeks for a real one to come out."

"No," her father said definitely. "But I don't feel right about faking it, either."

"It's not really, Mr. Granger," Harry said. "It's more speeding up the process. It'll be perfectly legal, I promise."

That seemed to reassure them, but neither one said anything for the rest of the trip. Harry and Hermione talked enthusiastically about mutual friends, with Harry asking most of the questions and Hermione providing the answers. They'd both heard from Ron, but Hermione also knew about Luna, Ginny, and Neville. "Luna and her father are off somewhere looking for something. One of their stories, you know. Ginny's with a couple of her friends, she says that she's having a great time. Neville's still with his grandmother, and I don't think he has any plans for the summer."

Harry nodded. "That's good. I wonder what Luna's looking for this time."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Heaven only knows," she said. Harry laughed.

Once they'd arrived at her house, Hermione told Harry to leave his bag in the car. "We're leaving at five o'clock tomorrow morning. There's no point in getting it out. I put your toothbrush and pajamas on top, so you can just grab those."

Her mother laughed. "That's my daughter, always organized," she said. Hermione shrugged. She'd heard it before, and she was sure she would again.

Harry pulled the necessary items out of his suitcase, as well as a change of underwear and another T-shirt, then closed the lid and the trunk of the car.

"You can put those in the guest bedroom," her father said. "Diana, show him where it is."

Hermione nodded, and walked up to the front door. She pulled out her wallet and produced her house key. She opened the door, then let Harry go in front of her. "Straight ahead, down the stairs, and first door on the left," she instructed. She followed as he made his way through her house and into the guest room. "There's a bathroom down here," she said. "Through the big room and on the left. There's another one upstairs. Put your stuff down, and I'll show you around."

He dropped his clothes on the guest bed, along with the cosmetic kit, and followed her out into the big room. She proceeded to show him around the two levels of her house, giving the standard tour. "This is my sister's room," she said, nodding towards the door opposite hers. There was music seeping quietly through. "She should be in there." She knocked on Belle's door, and the music stopped. After a moment, her little sister pulled it open.

"What is it, 'Mione?" she asked in irritation. "I'm a bit busy right now!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Belle, this is my friend Harry. He's coming with us to America. Harry, this is my little sister Belladonna, who you can call Belle or Athena, depending what you feel like and how annoying she's being."

Harry grinned. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "Ancient Gods popular with your parents?"

She nodded. "Dad has this passion for all things Classic. When I told him that one of our teachers was called Minerva, he freaked out. He actually asked me for her autograph, so that he could have the signature to frame on his wall."

Harry laughed.

Belle was studying Harry carefully. "You're my sister's age?" she asked suddenly.

Harry nodded. "Yes. I'll probably be in most of her classes next year. How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she answered. "I'm going into my fifth year."

He glanced at Hermione. "She knows," she said, answering his unspoken question. "It was a bit hard to ignore, you understand."

Harry grinned. "Hagrid knocked down our door," he said, reminiscing. "Aunt Petunia had a fit."

"I can imagine," Hermione said, remembering the prim woman she'd met at the house. "Professor Vector came here."

He laughed again. "That was appropriate," he remarked.

She shrugged. "I thought so. The moment she told me what she taught, I was determined to take her class."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Are the two of you going to stand here all day?" she asked. "Because if you are, I won't listen to you."

"We'll leave," Hermione promised her.

"Nice to have met you," Harry said, pushing himself away from the wall that he'd been leaning against. "Looking forwards to getting to know you better."

Belle grinned. "Same here," she said. "Now, please go away." She shut the door in their faces, and Hermione heard the music resume.

"I like her," Harry said as they went into Hermione's room.

"She's nice enough to strangers," Hermione said, shutting her door. "But she can be almost unbearable once she gets to know you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The rest of the morning passed in a fairly average manner. Harry got better acquainted with Hermione's parents and sister, and they talked about the upcoming trip. Harry was obviously looking forward to it immensely, and he didn't mind that Hermione, also looking forward to it, over explained just about every city and monument. Finally, they'd exhausted the topic, or at least the audience, and Hermione was about to offer to show Harry the computer, when Belle said, "Do you know how to play Uno?"

Harry shook his head, making his hair fly every which way. He brushed it out of his eyes. "Never played," he said. "Why?"

"Do you want to learn?" Belle asked.

He shrugged. "You willing to teach me?"

She nodded, pulling out a deck of cards from the pocket of her jeans. They sat down at the kitchen table with Hermione, and Belle slipped the rubber band off the deck. She shuffled the cards briskly, then deftly dealt out seven cards to each of them. Then she explained the rules quickly. When she was finished, she flipped over the first card in the deck and said, "Guests start."

Harry examined his hand, then selected a card and placed it on top of the discard pile. The game continued, and Hermione realized that Belle had set them up so that Hermione was right after her, and soon Hermione found herself with the most cards of anyone. Finally, Harry flipped his last card onto the stack and grinned. "I win," he said.

Belle shrugged. "Beginner's luck," she said dismissively. "Let's see how long you can keep it up."

She scooped up the cards and shuffled them again. "You deal, 'Mione," she said, passing the deck over to her sister. "I did it last time."

Hermione shrugged, and passed out the cards. She turned over the first card in the deck, and nodded for Harry to go first. This game went on longer. Harry seemed to have caught on, and Hermione had dealt herself a substantially better hand than the last time. She lost her reluctance to play what she'd long ago termed, "those evil cards!" and Harry didn't win until over fifteen minutes later. Meanwhile, Hermione was forcibly reminded of why she hadn't plaid Uno with Belle for a long time. Her sister was utterly ruthless, giving Hermione "draw four" cards without even blinking. She also had amazing instincts for which colors people had and didn't have, and always managed to use it to her advantage.

It was Harry's turn to deal, and he insisted on Hermione going first. She suggested switching the order, so that she played just before her sister, and the other two agreed. Hermione grinned as she looked over her hand. Not too promising, but she could do some damage with the "draw" and "skip" cards, she thought. This game was as fast paced as the last one, and all three had gotten over their qualms about doing damage. When Harry finally threw his last card onto the pile, he grinned triumphantly. "Uno champion of the world!" he proclaimed, raising his arms to the sky.

"Oh yeah?" Belle countered. "You're playing against the first runner up here." She grinned wickedly. "Hey Dad!"

Hermione groaned. "Whatever you do," she cautioned. "Don't let him talk you into using your own money. You get to keep your winnings, but most of the time, he gets it all. When I was younger, I owed him my allowance for months at a time."

Harry nodded. "Not much chance of using my own money," he said. "Seeing as it's not here right now."

"True…"

Her father sat down across from Hermione, grinning. He reached over onto the phone shelf and pulled out the peanut butter jar that held his card money. Dan Granger didn't gamble as a rule, but he'd always done it with the girls, ignoring his wife's mutinous muttering. "Teach 'em early what it's like to lose," he'd said, and he'd been right. Neither Hermione nor Belle would ever gamble with real money after their spectacular losses at his hand.

He opened the jar and neatly divided the coins into four equal stacks. He shoved one to each of the three, then pulled his own towards him. "You know how to play Uno for money?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Simple. You bet however much you want on your winning the match, then if you're right, you collect. You see your cards before you bet, and you can add more at the beginning of the game and any time someone changes the color. Got it?"

Harry nodded. Belle moved to shuffle the deck, but her father stopped her. "Nope," he said with a grin. "My shuffle, 'Thena." He shuffled the cards, then turned them and then did a flawless bridge. Hermione couldn't even manage to shuffle normally, which was why Belle never let her. Her father dealt the cards, and Hermione studied hers. Four yellows: one, three, six, and nine, green eight, red six, and plus four change color card. That was good. That was very good. Especially because the first card in the discard pile was yellow. She moved three fifty pence coins to the middle of the table. Harry shrugged, and also pushed in three, keeping them separate from hers. Both Belle and her father put in two, and the game began.

Belle had inherited her card playing talent from her father. It was soon apparent that Hermione wasn't even in the running anymore, though she did still have that plus four card. The game stretched on, going through one reshuffling, and finally both Harry and Belle had one card left. Hermione's father had two, and Hermione had five, including her plus four card. She looked at the blue six in front of her with a scowl, then looked through her cards. Four greens: one, five, seven, and reverse, and the plus four. There was only one thing for her to do. She delicately put the plus four card on the pile and said, "Green."

No one raised the jackpot, which contained a sizable number of coins. Belle groaned, and drew the required cards. Harry too drew. Her father grinned, and put down a green stop. "Uno," he said triumphantly. Harry drew. Belle drew. Her father drew. Hermione grinned and put down the reverse. Her father drew. Belle drew. Harry drew. Hermione put down the one. She only had two cards left. Could she? She held her breath as her father drew. Harry drew. Belle put down a green zero. Hermione placed her five.

"Uno," she said quietly. Her father groaned, looked despairingly at his cards, and drew. Harry played. Belle hesitated, then with a grin, selected a card. Hermione held her breath. She saw the flash of red, and sighed. Then she blinked. Seven? She grinned gleefully and dropped her green seven on top of the red one. She leaned back in her chair. "Who's champion now?" she asked. Belle grimaced, and Harry grinned. Her father pushed the pence towards her. She arranged them in neat stacks of five coins each, remarking how much money she had just accumulated. Some people had placed fairly hefty bets.

They continued to play for the next two hours. Hermione, not trusting her luck, bet sparingly, and only won one more game. The others were about evenly divided between Harry, Belle, and her father. Finally, as Harry collected an especially sizable pile of coins, her father pushed his chair away from the table. "Entertaining as this is," he said, "your mother will flay us if we don't move off her table. Harry, feel free to keep the money. I can give you bills for it, if you want."

Harry started to object, but her father waved the objections away. "If I hadn't intended to let you keep the money, I'd have told you at the beginning of the game." He counted Harry's coins, then reached into his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. He counted out the equivalent number, and passed them to Harry. He scooped up Harry's change and dropped it into the jar. Then he gave each of the girls their bills, and scraped all the coins into the jar, which he closed and set back on the shelf. Belle collected the cards and stretched the rubber band back over the deck, which she put into her pocket. She carefully took his bills, counted them, and ran off to put them in her piggy bank. Hermione pulled out her wallet and placed the notes into it, counting them as well. She was impressed. Her first win had substantially increased her winnings, and her subsequent prudence had allowed her to keep the wealth.

"Are you finished gambling?" her mother asked as they cleared up.

Hermione glanced at the stove and saw that her mother had been busy. She grabbed a handful of silverware and plates, and began to set the table. Harry looked awkward. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked finally.

Hermione's mother laughed. "Just sit tight Harry," she said. "It won't take Diana long."

As predicted, it didn't take Hermione long to set the table. She'd finished by the time Belle returned, and she took her place on the right side. She gestured for Harry to sit next to her, which he did, and Belle slipped into her own spot across the table. Her father sat down on his end, and her mother brought the meal over. She served the mashed potatoes and meatloaf, then sat down herself. Harry, ever polite, waited for everyone else to begin before he started himself. Then, he complimented Hermione's mother on her cooking, and Hermione's father on his card playing skills. Hermione could tell that both of her parents liked him already, and she was glad. It would make the trip much easier.

"So Harry," her father said, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Am I going to assume that the boy we met leaving your aunt and uncle's house was your cousin?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. That was Dudley."

"He seems to have a fairly defined personality," her mother ventured.

Harry laughed a little bitterly. "He hates me. I suppose you could consider that fairly defined."

"Why does he dislike you?" her father asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it's just who he is. As far as I can tell, he doesn't really have any friends at his school either."

"Where does he go to school?"

"Smeltings."

Her father grimaced. "I've always disapproved of that place," he said. "I don't believe in encouraging boys to become self-centered and cruel."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Hermione, seeing that he was uncomfortable with the topic, changed the conversation to the current political situation. Harry had very definite opinions, and he was able to join in well with the other four. He possessed a talent for interesting conversation, and he and her father soon found themselves engaged in an intense discussion that would have been classified as an argument if they hadn't both been so painstakingly polite about it.

When the meal was finished, Harry insisted on helping Hermione clear the table, and the chore was done in record time. Harry and Hermione retreated to her room, while Belle closeted herself in her own lair once more. Hermione heard the music come on again, and rolled her eyes. "She's obsessed with music," she explained. "It's gotten to the point where she can't do any work without it. The only thing she can't do while singing along to her music is play cards."

"Well, she's pretty good at it," Harry said.

"So are you," Hermione told him. "You sure you didn't cast a good luck charm on yourself?"

He shook his head. "Just normal luck," he said. "And newly acquired skill, of course."

"Uno doesn't take much skill," she countered. "You just have to hope that you draw the right cards."

"And know which ones to play when," he said. "Like with your change color card at the beginning. If you'd used it earlier, instead of drawing cards, you'd probably have lost."

She shrugged, conceding that he had a point. He looked around her room in interest, really seeing it for the first time. Hermione wished that it were a bit tidier. She'd packed her suitcase two days before, but there was still stuff strewn around the room a bit haphazardly. It wasn't as bad as his own room had been, though, so she hoped that he wouldn't make too much of an issue about it.

He didn't mention the mess, only grinned slightly. "No place like home, is there?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It's all mine, if that's what you mean." She walked over to her bookshelf and looked at the collection. She had added several wizarding tomes along with her muggle ones, but these were carefully covered by stretchy book covers and pushed towards the back. The visible books were all muggle classics, both fiction and non. She'd acquired a taste for Jane Austin lately, and her collection was towards the front on the fourth shelf down. All her other series and authors were arranged in order of relative importance, which no one but her could figure out. She'd tried to explain it to her mother, but she never understood, and both of them got frustrated enough that Hermione's mother had promised not to shelve any more of her daughter's books, leaving them on a pile on Hermione's desk for Hermione herself to deal with when she came home.

Harry glanced at her bookshelf, then grinned crookedly. "Is there anything on there that you haven't read?"

Hermione scanned the titles, then shook her head.

"And how many books are you bringing on the trip?"

Hermione looked at the holes in her shelf, then said, "About five."

He laughed. "Hermione, we're supposed to be looking at monuments and cities, remember?"

She shrugged. "I can multitask," she assured him.

He grinned at her. "I know that," he said. "But do your parents?"

Hermione grimaced. "No," she said. Her tone appeared to say it all, because he didn't continue.

Instead, he looked around her room. "I suppose I should probably read my mail, shouldn't I?"

"Undoubtedly," she agreed. He grimaced, but stood.

"I'll see if I can borrow your dad's car keys," he said. She nodded, already immersed in the delicate business of choosing which book she would devote herself to that afternoon.

* * *

Having obtained the car keys from Hermione's father, Harry opened the pocket of his suitcase and pulled out the stack of parchment that was all the letters that he'd ignored for the last two weeks. He gave the keys back, and walked slowly back to the guest room, trying to work up the courage to actually read them. When he finally arrived, he closed and locked the door, and pulled the curtains closed. The electric light bulb provided all the light that he needed, and he didn't want anyone spying on him. Finally, unable to think of a reason to put it off farther, he sat down on the bed and chose one at random. It was from Ron. 

_Hi Harry,_

_Why haven't you answered? Mum says that we shouldn't bother you, but I thought you should know that we're all really worried, mate. I mean, that was harsh, what happened, and I hope you realize that we'll always be there for you._

_Your friend,_

_Ron_

Harry set it aside, knowing that there were several more like it. He had eventually written to Ron, but apparently after this particular letter. He picked another one. The signature declared it to be from Professor Lupin. It told him that Professor Lupin was back with the werewolves, but that he was worried about Harry and wanted him to know that there were people that he could talk to. Harry discarded that one as well. He passed over several more from Ron and Hermione, knowing that they all said basically the same thing. There was one from Professor McGonagall naming him Quidditch captain, and one from Gringotts with his annual bank statement. Fred and George had written him with a business proposition, and he scrawled a reply on the back of their note. It vanished the moment he'd finished, and he could only assume that they'd placed some kind of charm on it. He hoped that it went to their office, or their apartment, or wherever it was that they were staying. It would be a bit embarrassing to have it appear in the middle of somewhere completely unknown, possibly even full of muggles. He would be recognized and written about, and he could do with a summer where he didn't make headlines.

He looked at the scarlet Quidditch badge for a moment, watching as the animated figure flew on endlessly without going anywhere, then reached into his suitcase and slipped it into a side pocket. The last letter he picked up was from, of all people, Ginny. He unrolled it curiously, bending forward a bit to read better.

_Dear Harry,_

_Ron told me that you haven't been answering his mail. I decided that I should try and write to you. Even if you don't write to me, please answer Ron. He's more worried than he lets on. Of course, we're all worried._

_But I'm sure that you're tired of hearing that. Actually, I started this letter intending to cheer you up. I guess I haven't done a very good job so far. So, what to say? I think that mum cooks even more when she's upset. She's been baking nonstop since all of us got back from the Ministry. I swear, we've got enough goodies to last us until next Christmas, at least! Though, considering that Ron lives with us, we'll be lucky to have any left by the time we go back to school. _

_What else? Everything's been as calm as can be expected. People keep popping into our house and talking with mum and dad, but they won't tell any of us what's up. I think that Fred and George know more than they're telling me, but that doesn't do me any good, now does it? I can only hope that they're telling you more than they're telling me. I think I'll go mad if I have to spend too much longer in the dark like this._

_Do you like the green ink? Mum gave it to me for my birthday, and I decided to try it out. Fitting, don't you think? Or maybe I'm just being sentimental and writing to you in ink the color of your eyes. You can decide._

_Mum says to invite you to our house whenever you want to come. Actually, what she said was, 'Tell him to come as soon as he can't stand those Muggles anymore.' I don't think she approves of your family. But I'm going to add my words to hers and say: Please do come. They might talk more with you here, and then you can tell me. At least, you'd better! If you play a Fred and George on me and refuse to talk, I'll put a bat-bogey hex on you, I promise!_

_Now, this is long enough and I want to send this tonight._

_Hope to hear from you and (hopefully) see you soon._

_Ginny._

Harry put the letter down with a sigh. The date told him that she'd only written it a few days before Ron's Howler. Maybe there was still time to answer her before she gave up on him. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a piece of parchment, smoothing it out as best he could. When it was as repaired as was possible without the application of magic, he uncorked his inkbottle and dipped his quill into it, debating how to answer her. She deserved a proper answer, after all, and he didn't quite know what to tell her.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I'm sorry for not writing to you until now. As I'm sure you've guessed, I've been a bit…preoccupied lately. I did write to Ron, as I'm sure you noticed, and I'm now staying with Hermione and her family. They've promised to take me to America for a month, so I should have plenty of distractions. Hopefully it'll work better than just moping around and feeling sorry for myself._

_I know the feeling of being left out. I doubt that I'll be much help in finding anything out, seeing as I'm going to be out of the country for a while, but I will pass on anything I learn to you. You're old enough to know what's going on. Tell Fred and George that they'd better tell you what they know, or I'll pull funding and they'll have to find a new backer. (Don't tell your mother I said that.)_

_I love the ink, though you're right, it is a bit sentimental. Still, I suppose there's nothing wrong with that. At least, not in small quantities._

_I'd love to come to the Burrow. Hopefully that can be arranged in America. As I said, we'll be spending about a month there, and I've yet to figure out how we can communicate. Does the floo network work across the ocean? Maybe the owls can hitch a ride on muggle airplanes. (I'll explain it to you later. Maybe your dad knows.)_

_My letters aren't long like yours, and I can't think of anything else to say._

_Harry._

He reread his letter one last time. He liked Ginny, and he didn't want to worry her. On the other hand, he knew her well enough to realize that she wouldn't be happy with anything other than the truth. This seemed an appropriate mix of truth and reassurance, as well as a ready-made excuse for not writing any time soon. Not even _Ginny_ could fault him for not writing when he couldn't post the letters!

He opened Hedwig's cage and looked at her. He knew that he wouldn't be able to take her with him, and he doubted that the Grangers would appreciate him leaving her here all summer. Writing to Ginny offered the ideal solution, of course, but he wondered if she would agree. There were times when she could be more than a little contrary.

"You know that you can't come with me, right?" he asked her.

She blinked solemnly at him.

"This letter is for Ginny. Stay at the Burrow until I come back, all right?"

She nodded once, then stuck out her leg for the letter. Harry lingered a moment as he tied it on. It seemed like a final parting, and he wanted to delay it as long as possible. Suddenly, she leaned down and pecked him hard on the top of the head.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, his hand flying to the spot. It came away sticky, and he glared at her. "Ungrateful wretch," he muttered resentfully. "Off you go!" He let go of her and she took off, flapping majestically out the open window and vanishing into the smog of afternoon London. He reached gingerly up to where she'd attacked him, trying to gauge the damage. The blood was slowing and the damage didn't seem to be particularly long lasting. Still, the attack had completely quelled all the desperately lonely feelings that Harry had been having.

Still grumbling obscenities, he cleaned up his mail and shoved it into the bottom of his suitcase. He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Five o'clock. It was probably almost time for dinner. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door. Belle stuck her head into the room. "Food," she informed him. "Mum says to come up."

"Be right there," Harry promised. He stood and pulled open the blinds, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to stream into the room. He blinked a little owlishly in the newly bright light, then hurried out of the room, stopping in the bathroom to wash his hands and make sure that there was no blood anywhere visible on him before pounding up the stairs and sitting down at the table at the same place he had at noon. They ate in silence for a while, with the only sounds being muted requests to pass dishes or spices. Harry relished the food. It wasn't that Aunt Petunia was a bad cook –on the contrary, when she actually made an effort, she could rival the Hogwarts House Elves– but everything that she cooked seemed to taste slightly sour to Harry. He supposed that it was the general aura of the house.

Finally, as Mr. Granger and Belle were reaching for seconds, Hermione said, "We get to leave at dawn tomorrow."

Harry winced. Dawn in July was far too early.

"Not quite at dawn," Mrs. Granger corrected. "But fairly early."

"How early exactly?" Harry queried, hoping for something even halfway reasonable.

"The plane takes off at eight, which means we have to be there by six, which means leaving here by five, which basically means getting up around four fifteen," Mr. Granger told him, passing the breadbasket to his wife.

So much for reasonable. "When does the sun rise, exactly?" Harry asked. If it was up before four-fifteen, then it was crazier than he was.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know exactly, but I would imagine that it would be up by then."

"You have to feel sorry for all the old sun Gods," Belle commented. "They really don't get much rest this time of year."

Mr. Granger nodded. "But they're Gods, so one can only assume that their infinite lifetimes of practice have gotten them used to it."

Mrs. Granger winced. "Trust me," she said. "You never get used to waking up early no matter _how_ long you do it."

Hermione nodded. "Very true," she agreed.

"Nonsense!" Mr. Granger scoffed. "The human body can get used to anything, given sufficient expose to it."

"But the mind can't," Belle muttered under her breath. She pushed her plate away. "May I be excused now?"

Mrs. Granger nodded, and Belle deposited her dishes in the sink before exiting the room. Hermione followed suit, and Harry copied her, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Granger for the meal.

"We've got some movies, if you're interested," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "Anything good?" he asked.

"Come see."

He followed her into the den and dropped down in front of the TV cabinet. He'd heard of most of the movies that they had, and had even managed to see a few of them. He held up one that he'd never seen before: an old musical called _On the Town_. Hermione popped it into the VCR, and the two of them retired to the battered couch to watch and gossip some more.


	3. 1: unwelcome encounters 2

_Disclaimer: Belle is my own character. No one else here is. This is the second part of chapter one. Enjoy!_

* * *

I was rudely shaken away the next morning, as promised, at four-fifteen. The stupid alarm woke me up out of a dream that was about my English class and the gorges du verdon that I'd only ever visited once. Shooting furious glares at the offending appliance, I dressed in my traveling clothes (laid out last night by yours truly) and jammed my feet into my sneakers. There would be time to do my hair and makeup later. Much later. Like at the airport. I stumbled down the hall and found my way mostly by rote to the kitchen. Mum was already setting out a meager breakfast, and both Harry and Hermione were yawning at the table. I must have taken longer dressing than I realized. 

"Here," Mum said, piling food onto a spare plate. "Eat as fast as you can and then go wash and brush. We'll squeeze your cosmetic kit in when you're done."

I obligingly bolted the food and vanished into the bathroom to perform my daily ablutions. I must admit to doing them rather badly. I stuffed the necessary items into a spare kit and dropped it on Mum's bed as I made my way back to the kitchen to check my carry-on one last time. Books: check. Uno cards: check. Makeup and hairbrush: check. Emergency clothes: check. Passport: check. Nail polish: not check. Where did it go? Oh yes, in the cosmetic kit.

"Belle!" Dad called.

"Yeah?" I shouted back.

"Have you seen my keys?"

Oh dear. Dad's memory is notoriously bad, and it tends to get worse when he's under stress. I dropped my backpack and scanned the kitchen hastily. No sign of the missing objects.

"No!"

I heard him walking away, then the shout of 'Mione's name. I hoped that he'd find them soon. Mum's nerves don't improve when Dad gets like this.

Finally, we all piled into the car, along with baggage and car keys. There was one last check, a surreptitious wave at the house (hey, what can I say? I'm a romantic. Don't tell my sister.), and we were off.

The drive to the airport wasn't quite as harrowing as it could have been. Mum was driving, and all Dad had to do was stare blankly out the window. I copied him and watched as the barely risen sun began to creep ever higher up the horizon. Its rays illuminated the sleeping country, and threw the few cars on the road at this ludicrous hour into sharp relief. I watched as we went from suburbs to more industrial areas, wondering why anyone wanted to live in a place like that. Eventually, we made it to Heathrow Airport, and the four of us tumbled out of the car with the luggage while Mum drove off to drop it off in the left car park. When she finally returned, we headed into the building.

Harry and Hermione left us for a long ten minutes, vanishing behind a screen and not coming back out. When they finally reemerged, Harry was holding a passport and Hermione was pocketing her wand.

"Everything work out all right?" Mum asked, eyeing Harry's passport warily.

Harry nodded. "I promise you that it's legal," he assured her. "We just speeded up the process a bit."

"Let's see the picture," I said, moving over to him. He grimaced and flipped open the document. I grinned: he looked like nothing so much as a rather over-large bug. "Don't feel too bad," I advised him. "Everyone looks like rubbish on those things."

"Let's see yours," he said.

"Not on your life!" I exclaimed, clutching the offending picture close. "I refuse to be turned into a laughing stock!"

"Let's go," Dad said authoritatively. We instinctively fell into line, with me at the back and Harry sandwiched between my sister and I. We checked in, and no one batted an eye at Harry's passport. Apparently he was right and it _was_ perfectly legal. I wasn't quite sure how the airline people knew that he was really supposed to be with us, as we hadn't officially bought the ticket in his name, but there were no problems. Maybe the people who gave him the passport fixed the records as well.

With time to spare and unhampered by oversized luggage, we walked into the lounge. I ducked into a bathroom and spread out my makeup, quickly applying the necessities. I brushed my hair minimally, yanking it into a fairly messy ponytail. There would be time to redo it on the plane. For now, I just wanted it out of my face. Hermione eventually came in to fetch me, and I quickly packed my cosmetics back up. We emerged into the lounge, and spent about half an hour wandering around, looking at all the various shops. We went into some of the more interesting looking ones, and Hermione even considered buying a few things. Finally, though, she had to leave without purchasing anything, because all of our funds were limited and she wanted to save money for America. I, who am a far better card player than she, bought a small snack and munched on it as we continued to explore.

Two hours in an airport often seem to be interminable. These two were only moderately better. There were three of us, for one thing, and all of us were tired enough to be able to zone out for a good part of an hour. It still took forever, though. When our row was finally announced for boarding, I though I would run over to the booth as fast as I could in relief. I should have known better.

Let me get one thing clear: I hate flying. Of course, the fact that this particular plane trip was nine hours long didn't help. The seats are uncomfortable, the food is unpalatable, and the movies are stupid. Usually, the only thing that keeps me sane is reading and annoying Hermione. This time, I had Harry to talk to. Though he was incredibly vague about himself, he was a good listener, and though not much better at thinking of witty repartees than Hermione, he laughed at my jokes. He told me stories about their school, something Hermione had never consented to doing, and soon had me laughing so hard that it was all I could do to stay in the airplane seat. Hermione, buried deep in a book, as usual, sighed at some of the stories he told, and groaned at the ones that I recounted gleefully in return. The one about how Hermione had cut off all of her own hair when she was five years old made him laugh especially hard, and made Hermione turn beet red.

I'd brought the Uno deck, and we played several hands, even graciously inviting Hermione to join in for most of them. Harry and I almost evenly split the victories, with Hermione managing one. The three of us watched a very bad romantic comedy, laughing insanely all the way through, which seriously irritated both our parents and the other passengers. When the movie was over, we removed our headphones and made an effort to calm down. We picked at the food that the airline had provided for us, speculating as to its origins and content. Harry tried some of the fruit concoction, shuddered, and retreated as fast as possible. All three of us ate the cheesecake and the chocolate, and Hermione consumed about half of the dish that they called, "fish." I tried a little of it, grimaced awfully, and shoved it back. When the airline stewardess came back, I asked her for another packet of the pretzel things we'd been given earlier. She winked and gave me three, along with three mini cans of coke. We shared the food, which was at least eatable, and drank the coke while fantasizing as to what we would eat when we got to the airport in Newark. I opted for a giant hamburger and a monster pack of chips. I've heard that they're very different in America. Harry agreed with the burger, but he wanted crisps instead. Hermione shuddered at the mere mention of the American Hamburger, and declared that she wanted a salad with tomatoes and mozzarella. I mocked her for it, but after what we'd just been faced with, even that sounded appealing.

We finally landed in Newark Airport at eleven in the morning, local time. Time zones are wonderful things, aren't they? We collected our luggage and passed through customs without any trouble. Once again, no one questioned Harry's passport. His suitcase, once we'd collected it had also become suspiciously lighter. I suspected that Hermione had done something to it, but I didn't ask her. She probably wouldn't have answered me anyway.

Our parents took us to a TGI Friday's, and all three of us indulged in the meals that we'd fantasized about on the plane. The bacon cheeseburger that I ordered was huge, as was the plate of chips, or French Fries, as the Americans persist on calling them, though what they have to do with the French, I'm sure I don't know. I stubbornly ate all of it (though I allowed Harry to help me with the fries. Hermione wouldn't touch them), but knew that I wouldn't be eating anything for dinner that night. Harry too looked pleasantly full at the end of his burger, while Hermione ate all of her salad with relish. My parents had picked boring and average things, which came in normal portions, which ruins the fun of going out to eat. When we finished, we grabbed our luggage and headed for the exit of the airport. I'd never been to America before, and I was excited to finally leave the airport. Traveler's wisdom holds that you haven't actually visited a place until you've left the airport. I wanted to actually begin the visit as soon as possible. We didn't have a car for this part of the trip, and we were forced to walk to the hotel. It might not have been far, but I thanked my lucky stars for the fact that my suitcase had wheels. Harry didn't seem to be having too much trouble with his bag, and Hermione was talking happily about all of the landmarks that she could see, not caring a wit that no one was listening to her. Finally, we reached the hotel. Dad got the room keys, and handed them out. I wound up sharing with Hermione, while Harry got his own room. Dad grinned at my expression, and shrugged. I knew that it was useless to argue, and I plodded over to the elevator with them. We rode it up to the fifth floor, where Dad handed out the room keys. Hermione, of course, got ours. I had one as well, but it was clear that it was just a backup. Hermione grinned as she unlocked the door, and I glowered. The door clicked shut behind me, and I looked at the actual room. Not too bad, I thought. There were two beds, each with two pillows and what appeared to be a mass of sheets and blankets. I wondered just how many of them I'd need for New York City in July. There was a television on the dresser across from the beds, but Mum has made it quite clear that she doesn't like us to watch too much. I wondered if I'd be able to sneak in a few sessions, but one glance at my sister, carefully taking out a book, discouraged me. If anyone was going to tell Mum, she would.

With a sigh, I flopped back onto my bed. It was going to be a long vacation.

* * *

Hermione wouldn't let them go out on their first afternoon in Boston, saying that she wanted to see as much as they did and that she had no intention of going out that afternoon. Belle took one glance at the television program, grimaced, and cajoled her mother into going shopping with her. Mr. Granger retired to his room, and Harry looked questioningly at Hermione. She shrugged. "The Figure Skating National Championships are one," she explained. "I'm going to watch. You want to watch with me?"

Harry shrugged and dropped down onto the bed next to her. She turned on the TV and flipped to the channel. The two of them chattered through five minutes of commercials, then she made him shut up as the program began.

Harry found himself fascinated by the skaters. He was totally skating illiterate, though Hermione obviously was not. She was glued to the screen, alert to the slightest nuance of the skater's performance and general attitude. Harry, on the other hand, wasn't hampered by such intimate knowledge of the mechanics of the sport, and he was free to examine the beauty of the movements. He found himself captivated by the grace and confidence exuded by the athletes, even when they fell. The flashing of their blades and the nuances of the music mesmerized him. He wondered how long it had taken them to achieve the perfection that he saw displayed on the screen. They made it look effortless, but Harry had played Quidditch long enough to know that no sport was truly effortless.

As the first commercial break rolled around, Hermione sighed. "I wish the best would go on first."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

Hermione burst out laughing. "Harry, these skaters are good, but we haven't gotten around to the world-class ones yet. None of these have a chance in a million of winning the title."

"But they're amazing!"

"Yes, they're very good. But you haven't seen the best yet. Just watch and learn."

Harry did as he was told, but he couldn't tell the difference between the next batch of skaters and the last. He thought he might have heard triple somethings a tad more often, but then again, he might just have been imagining it. He couldn't tell the difference between any of the jumps, after all.

The jumps might have been amazing, but it was the spins that left him breathless. He didn't see how they could stand to spin so fast for so long. To him, it seemed as though they should get dizzy in the extreme and fall over in a heap, but none of them did. They crouched down, lifted their legs gracefully above their heads, extended their arms all over, bent so far over backwards that it looked positively deadly… all while rotating at top speeds. It was amazing.

Despite her words about these not being the best, Hermione was as entranced as Harry. By common consent they didn't talk during the commercials, and the moment the skating came back on, they were riveted to the screen. Harry didn't know how long they sat there, hypnotized by the beauty they saw before them, but finally, he realized that they had almost arrived at the end. He didn't have time to be disappointed, though. The women who were coming were the best yet. They were graceful and slender, and the way they moved on the ice made it clear that they were completely at home on it. Even when they were just warming up, they glided seamlessly from stroke to stroke, not missing a single beat or faltering on the patches of darker ice. They zipped around the sheet, practicing and talking with their coaches.

He couldn't take his eyes off one girl in particular. She was obviously Asian, though he supposed she might be American. It didn't matter. She had a presence on the ice, something that drew him to her with a strange force that he couldn't explain. He watched as she glided easily from trick to trick, blending jumps with spins with turns of bewildering speed, turning them all into a single entity.

"Michelle Kwan," Hermione whispered, seeing the direction of his gaze. "She's the best American skater."

"She's amazing," Harry breathed, watching as she stepped off the ice, accepting a water bottle from another woman.

"She's the best," Hermione said again. "And she's the best with good reason."

Harry hardly watched the skaters that preformed, so eager was he for Michelle to come onto the ice. And finally, there she was. She assumed her position, crouching down on the ice and lowering her gaze to her feet. There was a beat of silence, and then the music started. He didn't recognize the song, but the way she moved to it left him completely transfixed. She glided and swayed, weaving all of the tricks together to form a tapestry of infinite beauty and infinite sadness. He felt his heart go out to her, as though it really was her who was singing the lament of unrequited love and passion.

As the final notes filtered to a close, he found that he was breathing hard. Hermione, next to him, seemed in little better condition. He wanted to say something, wanted to make some remark to alleviate the tension in the room, but there was nothing to say, and any words would dim the magic. And so he said nothing, allowing the intense emotion to dissipate at its own pace.

It came as no surprise to him that Michelle won the competition. He'd known she was going to win the moment she stepped onto the ice. Her very presence made it impossible for her to lose, and the incredible performance that he'd just witnessed made it even plainer that she was destined for the highest medal. As she mounted the podium and bent her head to receive the gold medal, he felt his heart swell a little, then sink back to its normal size. She was beautiful and she was talented, but she was not for him.

They emerged back into the real world soon after. Mr. Granger eyed them with a barely concealed smile, then offered to take them out to dinner. Both Harry and Hermione instantly agreed. There was far too much intensity still in that room, and it would do them both good to escape it for a while.

* * *

We toured the country for two weeks before finally arriving in Colorado. We saw shows and monuments, some of which were better than others. The Broadway play, for instance, was utterly fabulous, but the jazz concert that they dragged me to in New Orleans could have been missed. Hermione, naturally, enjoyed it all, and Harry seemed to, though I don't know if that was because he honestly liked it or because he wanted to be polite. I suspect that it was some of both.

Even so, I was far from bored. Just about anything is better than my house in the summer, and I like being in new places, if not the getting there. We did far more flying than I would have liked, and even Harry got tired of it, but none of us complained. There aren't really any better ways to get places, after all.

We'd been in Denver for a few days when we made the trip up Lookout Mountain.

I saw the boy just before Harry did. A tall, very thin, _very_ hot teenager. His slightly shaggy blond hair, cut in the latest style, fell into his eyes, and he was dressed entirely in black, despite the heat of the day. His face was thin and slightly pointed, giving him a mysterious look. His eyes were storm cloud gray, and he moved like a natural athlete, though he didn't look it. His entire outfit radiated money and status. He was currently lounging against the fence that surrounded Buffalo Bill's grave, watching the world with barely concealed contempt. Harry hissed when he saw him. "Malfoy," he said viciously. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Hermione heard him, and turned to look. Her face darkened as well, and she groaned softly. "Wish I knew," she answered.

I looked at him curiously. "Who is he?" I asked.

Harry sighed. "Only the biggest git in our year," he said. "We've hated each other ever since we met."

"He's damn hot," I said, only half trying to provoke him.

Harry choked. "You're kidding, right?" he managed finally.

I shook my head, grinning wickedly. "Nope. Don't see how my dear sister here could have resisted all these years."

Hermione blushed beet red. "_Belle!_" she hissed.

"What?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"He hates me! He hates all of us!"

"How do you know?"

"Maybe because he insults us whenever he sees us?" she said.

I shook my head. I didn't really think that this Malfoy liked Hermione, but it was far too good an opportunity to miss. "That's how boys work," I informed her. "He's waiting for you to make the first move."

She looked as though she were trying to decide between being shocked or amused. "Belle," she said finally. "You have been reading celebrity magazines for far too long. Malfoy hates me. I hate Malfoy. End of story."

I shrugged. "Then I guess he's available, isn't he?"

Harry looked at me as though I were crazy. "You're going to try and flirt with _Malfoy_?! You're a masochist!"

I shook my head, grinning impishly. "Nope. I just like a challenge. I _despise_ boring men." I gave the two of them a little wave, then sauntered over to where Malfoy was lounging.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded harshly when he caught sight of me.

I shivered slightly. His voice was as sexy as his body. I caught myself envisioning kissing him, and pulled firmly on the reigns holding my imagination. One step at a time, Belle. "I'm looking at you," I answered, grinning. I hoped that he'd rise satisfactorily to the bait. It'd be nice to have an equal for once.

He didn't disappoint me. "You're looking in the wrong place," he said, but I could see that the edge of his mouth was curled almost imperceptibly into a mocking smile.

"Really?" I asked, feigning disappointment. "That's a shame. You're too damned hot to pass up."

"Fuck off," he said, but the smirk widened a bit.

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" I asked. "You haven't even asked me my name, yet."

"Who are you?"

I smirked myself. "Now that you ask, my name's Belle." And no, I didn't give him any more than that. I'm not stupid. "And you?"

"Draco. I take it that you don't know me?"

I was disappointed. He was that kind of guy, was he? The kind who played on his family instead of his charm. "Nope," I told him bluntly. "Why, is your family overprotective, or exclusive?"

"Both," he answered. "And I'm neither."

"Good," I purred. That had redeemed him again. "Will I be seeing you around?"

"One can only hope," he answered, his smirk finally taking control of his face. "Where might you be staying?"

I laughed disdainfully. "As if I would tell _you_," I said flirtatiously. "You might be a dangerous rapist, for all I know. Let's just say that I'll look for you, shall we?"

"As shall I," he answered. He turned away, and I walked back to where Harry and Hermione were standing, a grin of triumph on my face, mostly at the shocked expression on both of their faces.

"He didn't kill you," Hermione said, wonderingly. "I felt sure that he would. He hates non-magical people."

"Muggles, you mean?" I asked. She nodded. I shrugged. "Guess I'm just a darn sexy muggle, then, aren't I?"

"He was toying with you," Harry said shortly. "He doesn't do anything for other people. He was trying to get information out of you."

"He didn't try very hard, then," I shot back, a bit annoyed. I didn't see why Harry and Hermione hated him so much. I was actually hoping to see him again. Not that I was interested, mind you. Not at all! I just like a challenge, and he certainly was that.

Harry was saved from having to come up with a reply by my parents. They shot Draco a suspicious look, and shepherded the three of us away. I glanced back as we walked away, and caught Draco staring at us. And he wasn't looking at me.

* * *

I know, toying with the muggle girl was silly. But seeing Harry had severely unnerved me, and she offered a welcome distraction. Not that she interested me. She was a good conversationalist, and she was very good at flirting, but she was not what I was looking for. Not to mention the fact that she'd been talking with Granger and Harry moments before. She didn't look related, and she certainly didn't_act_ related, but I supposed that she must have been Granger's sister. I'd known vaguely that she had one, and I'd expected a smaller version of Granger. The smooth, flirtatious girl had completely changed my views on the matter. I wondered if I_ would_ see her again. It would carry added benefits, as well. I'd get to see Harry, if only from afar.

I've been watching Harry Potter for as long as I can remember. Even when we were only eleven, he was the one that I watched. Not obviously, of course, but closely all the same. He, naturally, has no idea that I do this. I hide my interest behind insults and indifference, and many nights, I hate him for his obliviousness. My interest in him has been classified as being on the ragged edge of obsessiveness by the one other person who knows about it. She informed me last summer that I should either kiss him or forget about him. I told her that I couldn't do either. No one in the world except him will make me kiss Harry Potter, but I can't forget about him. I will just continue in this limbo of desire and appearances until he realizes, or I die.

I'm a private person, and none of the other Slytherins can understand obsession with another person. They all care only about themselves and their appearances to the outside world. I should know: I'm one of the ones that they try to impress. Sometimes, having pure blood and a family fortune is not the best thing in the House of Snake. This is, however, of little importance to me. I'm used to having people, mostly girls, try to seduce me to get a piece of the fortune, reputation… whatever. The problem is, of course, that the one I really want to try to seduce me won't ever do it. Harry Potter is lost to me. Not, of course that he was ever mine to lose.

It had taken ages to convince my mother to let me come on the trip to America. She herself couldn't come with me, but she'd assigned a friend to watch out for me. I had promptly ditched the friend, and was now on my own. Money was as useful in the muggle world as in the wizarding one, so I had no trouble getting rooms in hotels and tickets on airplanes. My allowance isn't unlimited, but it's still enough to buy just about whatever I want. Not to mention the fact that American dollars are worth a hell of a lot less that Galleons.

I hadn't intended to follow them. In fact, I'd come to America to avoid thinking about him. But when I ran into the muggle girl, I couldn't stop thinking anymore. I had to know more about how he was and what he was doing, and she'd unwittingly given me an excuse. I wondered how I'd be received when I stopped to see her. Granger would probably throw a fit, and Harry would almost certainly try to kill me if I wasn't careful. So I would be careful. I wouldn't be obvious about it. I would let them think that I wanted the girl, and watch them from afar. It was better than nothing, after all.

* * *

I was a bit disappointed when several days passed without us seeing Draco. I'd been certain that he would at least _try_ to find us, if only to torment Harry and Hermione. Of course, I might possibly have read him wrong, but I doubted it. I'm not usually particularly good at things like that, but he was being quite obvious. I wondered how much Harry and Hermione suspected. Maybe that explained some of why they hated him so much.

I continued to watch for him surreptitiously as we toured the area, but I didn't find him. I was beginning to wonder if he'd given up when he finally reappeared. We were just coming out of the State Capital building, where we'd been lectured within less than an inch of our lives, and there he was, dressed once again in black and lounging against the wall. I had the oddest sense of déjà vu as Harry hissed in disgust.

"Him again," he muttered, slowing down.

"Excellent," I said, grinning slightly. "I was wondering when he'd come back."

Harry glared at me. "Be careful," he snapped. "You don't know what he wants."

I glared right back. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself," I reminded him.

"Not against a wizard, you're not," he said flatly. "He could kill you in a second if he wanted."

"So could just about anyone," I said, just as flatly. "Just because he can wave a stick around and recite some words doesn't make him any more dangerous than anyone else."

"Tell me the same thing when you've witnessed people with sticks reciting words that kill your father," he told me coldly. "But who am I to tell you what to do? Go ahead, I can't stop you from talking to him."

"No," I told him, ignoring the shudder that was running through me at his pronouncement. "You can't and you won't." Purposefully, I walked away from him and slid next to Draco. "I was wondering when you'd bother to show up again," I said.

He looked at me. "What makes you think I was looking for _you_?" he demanded.

"Who else would you be looking for?" I asked, feigning shock. It's all about the lies, after all. He tells lies, you tell lies, and the one whose lies are the most believable wins the day.

"Who else indeed?" he asked, a little absently. Then he turned his attention fully back to me. "And do your parents approve of your talking with me?"

I snorted scornfully. "Who do you think I am, a _child_?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know. But those are your parents, are they not?"

I deliberately misunderstood him and gestured to Harry and Hermione. "_Them_?! Surely not!"

He glanced towards them, then shrugged. "I should hope not," he agreed. "She is far too old for him."

I chocked. "As far as I was aware," I managed, "they're the same age."

He lifted his eyebrow. "Physically, perhaps. But intellectually? She's far older than he is."

"I wouldn't know," I said dryly. "Though judging from what I know of my sister, she'd be intellectually far too old for any man."

"True," he agreed. "Though there are those who would try their luck."

"And I suppose you're one of them?"

He grimaced. "Please credit me with better taste. If I wanted your sister, I could have had her years ago."

Interesting. Maybe I _was_ wrong, after all. "And so who _do_ you want?"

He shrugged, but I swear that his eyes drifted momentarily over to rest on Harry and Hermione, then snapped back towards me. "Suffice it to say that it is not your sister," he said.

Okay, so I most definitely _was not_ wrong. I thought so! "Well, when you make up your mind, do let me know, will you?"

"I shall do that," he promised dryly. "Until then, you appear to be wasting your time."

I grinned at him. "I'm helping you along," I said with an earnesty that was completely and totally transparent. "Surely you appreciate what I'm doing for you!"

"I believe that I can make up my own mind," he told me flatly.

"Of course you can," I agreed. "I'm just helping you along."

"I suppose that you want yourself to be the chosen partner?"

I shrugged. "If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't even be talking to you," I reminded him. "I don't care to clack my teeth in supremely useless exercises."

He moved a little closer to me, and his gray eyes bored into my brown ones. "And how far are you willing to go?" he purred, sliding his hand so that it almost touched mine.

I backed up, batting my lashes at him in a way that completely belied the warning look on my face. "You haven't chosen yet," I reminded him. "I'm not a toy that you can play with."

He shrugged, retreating.

I glanced back, only to find both Harry and Hermione watching me through narrowed eyes. Harry's hand was twitching towards the pocket that I knew held his wand. "Besides," I added, "I have to obey my minders."

His glance flickered in their direction, and he retreated some more. "Then let us not provoke your minders," he said dryly.

"Indeed," I agreed. At that moment, my mother walked up to us. She eyed Draco suspiciously, then pulled me away. The moment we were out of earshot, I demanded, "What are you _doing_?!"

"That's the question I am asking _you_, Belladonna Athena Granger," she said fiercely.

Oops. Mum only calls me that when I'm _really_ in trouble. "Talking," I answered, knowing that it wouldn't be enough.

"It didn't look like talking to me," she informed me.

I rolled my eyes. "Mum, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. She clutched my arm harder, making me wince and wriggle out of her grasp. "Girls your age are _not_ safe!" she hissed. "I thought I'd told you not to go up to strange men!"

"He's not a strange man, he goes to school with Harry and Hermione," I snapped. "And it's not like we're _doing_ anything!"

"He tried," Mum said ominously. "I saw him."

"Then you saw me stop him! Honestly, Mum, why do you see rapists and muggers in _everyone_?!"

"Because you're my daughter and I have a right to know who you're talking to!" she said fiercely.

"Well, now you know. Nothing happened, nothing has happened, and nothing _will_ happen! I'm not the one he's looking for, anyway."

"How do you know?"

I eyed her witheringly. "Because I pay attention," I said. "And I've seen where he looks. You can trust me, Mum, it's not at me."

Her eyes riveted instantly on my sister.

"Not her either."

"Who, then?"

"Who else is there?"

She looked at me in amazement. "You think?" she asked.

I shrugged. "With 99 percent certainty," I told her. "So you can rest assured, he won't try anything on me."

She was still suspicious. I sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"Promise me not to talk to him alone again."

"Define alone."

She paused, thinking. "Out of hearing range of anyone you know. No, anyone who's traveling with us."

I considered. Finally, I shrugged. "I suppose," I said. She eyed me suspiciously, then walked away, leaving me well out of hearing range. I considered, then caught Draco's eye. He raised his eyebrow in question, and I shrugged, indicating my mother's retreating figure. I rolled me eyes, and he nodded in understanding. He turned away and seamlessly blended into the crowd. Watching him go, I wondered suddenly what would have happened if I _had_ let him kiss me. Maybe I should try some day.

I shook my head at my own folly. That was _not_ going to happen, not if my mother had anything to say about it. I knew her well enough to realize just how much of a concession I'd gotten, and I wasn't willing to push my luck. Kissing him would most _definitely_ push that all important luck. Best stick to flirting. I sighed, not able to stop my imagination, and rejoined Harry and Hermione.

"What did Mum say?" Hermione demanded.

I grinned at her. "I won," I said cryptically.

She frowned. "_Belle_," she said warningly.

"I can't kiss him, he can't kiss me, I can't talk to him unless someone who's traveling with us is in hearing range."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's it?"

I nodded. "Told you I won," I told her triumphantly. I eyed Harry, who was looking angry again. "Don't go and accuse him, please," I said. "He's far more interesting to talk to than you are."

He looked away from me. "I still think he's playing with you."

"Then think that!" I snapped. "I don't care, and it won't stop me!" I walked away from him, using the rather feeble excuse of taking a picture of the building. Honestly, what was _up_ with Harry? Unless he knew what Draco felt, unlikely, he was just being paranoid and closed-minded. I can't _stand_ closed-minded people.

* * *

The OWL results came towards the end of July, a few days before Harry's birthday. Hermione had known that they would be coming, and she wouldn't let them leave the hotel until the owls arrived with the results. It wasn't until nine o'clock that she shrieked. "Harry! They're here!"

Harry tore into her room, and the two of them stood together, watching the small shapes grow. Finally, the two brown owls landed, and Harry and Hermione advanced shakily, grasping their letters. Hermione's hands were shaking, and it took her several seconds to detach the letter. The owl was obviously used to things like this, because it stood patiently and bore her trembling without moving. Finally, she managed to untie the letter, and the owl took off. She unrolled the parchment, and looked at it for a moment without internalizing any of what it said. Finally, she took in what was written on the parchment.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass Grades:  
Outstanding (O)  
Exceeds Expectations (E)  
Acceptable (A)  
__Fail Grades:  
Poor (P)  
__Dreadful (D)  
__Troll (T)_

_HERMIONE DIANA GRANGER HAS ACHIEVED:_

_Ancient Runes:O  
Arithmancy:O  
Astronomy:O  
Care of Magical Creatures:O  
Charms:O  
Defense Against the Dark Arts:E  
Herbology:O  
Literature:O  
History of Magic:O  
Potions:O  
Transfiguration:O_  
Hermione read the parchment another time, unable to absorb the information. She didn't move, and the one thing that stuck out at her was the E in Defense. She hadn't expected an O, she told herself, but she felt like she'd failed it all. Harry touched her shoulder gently, and pulled the paper out of her hands. He scanned it, and then laughed.

"You're actually disappointed, aren't you?" he asked. She didn't deny it. He handed her his own results, and she looked them over.

"Congratulations," she said, pointing at his O in Defense and Potions. "You see, it's all a matter of getting away from Snape."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'll have to spend the next two years with him, though."

Hermione shrugged. "You'll survive," she promised him.

"I guess," he agreed.

"What'd you get, 'Mione?" Belle demanded, coming up behind them. Hermione handed her little sister her results, which she'd reclaimed from Harry, and didn't look at Belle's face as the other girl read them. "Nice," she said finally.

"As a celebration," her father added, making Hermione start. "Why don't you choose where we visit today, Diana?"

Hermione frowned, thinking about it carefully. Where to choose? Suddenly, she grinned.

"Uh oh," Belle muttered. "She's got that look on her face."

Hermione shoved her sister lightly. "Stop it! You'll like this one, I promise."

"Oh yeah?" Belle asked skeptically. "What is it, an exhibition on the history of dirt?"

"Better," Hermione promised her. "Rocks."

"Rocks?!"

"Gems," Hermione amended.

Belle started to look more interested. "Where?" she asked.

Hermione dug out the newspaper article that she'd found a few days before, brandishing it at her sister.

"You do realize that I can't read that so long as you keep waving it around, don't you?" Belle said dryly. She plucked the newspaper out of Hermione's hand and scanned it. "'Come discover the fascinating world of gems,'" she read. "'Newest exhibit of the Denver Natural History Museum.' Where is this place, exactly?"

Hermione recited the address. Her mother frowned. "How far away from here is that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "But you said I could pick anything!"

Her father laughed. "You've got us there, Diana. All right. We'll go examine your rocks."

"Thank you!" Hermione said, smiling up at her father.

"Is that all right with you, Harry?" her mother asked, looking over at the black-haired boy standing behind them.

He shrugged. "It's fine, Mrs. Granger," he said.

Hermione twisted to look at him. "Are you sure?" she asked. "We can go somewhere else, if you'd rather."

He smiled. "I've got nothing against gems," he assured her. "I'll go see them with you."

"Thanks," she said, smiling back. She turned to her parents again. "So shall we get going?"

* * *

I don't know what made me decide to go to the museum on that particular day. It might have been my budding Inner Eye, or just pure dumb luck. In any case, I once again ran into the Granger party, complete with Belle and Harry. Wonderful. I slid back into the shadows, hoping that they would pass by. I'd been having a relatively good day up until then, and I refused to allow his glares to ruin it for me. I'm not a masochist, after all. At least, not too much of one.

Even so, I followed them into the rock exhibit, trying to convince myself that I'd wanted to look at rocks all along. I stayed several displays behind them, far enough away that they wouldn't notice me, yet close enough to keep an eye on them. On _him_.

Granger was lecturing them all incessantly about the properties of the various rocks, and even Belle looked interested. She seemed to know some things about the rocks, because at several points she interrupted her sister to correct something, or add information. Granger looked at her in irritation whenever she did this, but Belle only grinned at her. I got the feeling that they went to museums together fairly often.

Harry too looked interested, though his expression was more curious than passionate. Apparently he didn't care much about rocks either. They walked on, and I followed them, glancing into the case containing some kind of red stones. I noted with detached interest that one of them was a ruby. That's my birthstone, though I don't actually believe in any of the superstitions involved with birthstones. Still, I looked at the small red rock more closely. They were uncut, yet they seemed to throw off light anyway. I leaned forward, interested despite myself. They were prettier than I'd thought. Maybe I'd have to look into getting some for myself.

"Having fun?" a familiarly dry voice asked.

I started, whirling to look into Belle's warm brown eyes. They glinted with amusement, giving her the appearance of being far older than fourteen.

"I was," I answered, raising my eyebrow and leaning against the case of red rocks. "Until you came."

She snorted. "Sorry for ruining it for you," she drawled.

"Do you have anything useful to say?" I demanded.

She shrugged. "What's useful?"

"That's your opinion, isn't it? I won't control what you say. I'll control what I listen to, though."

She grinned. "My sister looked like she was about to kill you. I thought I'd warn you."

"Thank you so much," I said wryly. "I'll remember that."

She shrugged. "I won't cry at your funeral," she warned.

"I didn't ask you to. Why does your sister want to kill me, by the way?"

"I don't know. I suppose that it's just the fact that you're here."

"So nice to be loved."

She laughed. "Indeed," she agreed. "Shall I call her over and force you to make a truce?"

I shrugged. "If you like. I doubt that much will get accomplished."

"You never know," she assured me. "My sister's much more reasonable than I am."

"Pity. You're much more interesting than she is."

She grinned. "Thanks ever so. From what I hear, that's a high compliment coming from you."

"If you're going to fetch your sister, then do it," I interrupted. I wondered just what she'd heard. Obviously it couldn't have been _too_ terrible, or she wouldn't be talking to me. Then again, maybe she was just a rebel. It didn't really matter. She was my best link to Harry, and I didn't intend to lose that.

She came back, followed at a distance by her sister. Granger glared at me, and I sneered back. I might enjoy her sister's company, but Granger herself was still the same old person. No power in the world would make me like her.

"Belle says you have something to say." Her voice was hard as she spoke, and her brown eyes were completely closed. She was already on the defensive.

For some reason, that bothered me. "Why don't you ask her, then?" I snapped. "She seems to have some master plan. I assure you, Granger, I would never _willingly_ exchange words with you."

She scowled. Before it could escalate any further, Belle stepped in. She glowered fiercely at both of us. "Stop it! I am not just going to stand here and listen to you insult each other. 'Mione, just forget who he is at school. If we meet him again, you're going to have to deal. And Draco? You do the same. I'm not going to allow you to insult my sister, do you understand?"

"If you hadn't dragged her over, I wouldn't have had to insult her," I pointed out, deliberately not looking at Granger. "So it's your fault."

"No it's not!" Granger blazed, coming to her little sister's defense. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Looking at rocks," I replied promptly, allowing the boredom and disgust that I felt about being here flow into my words. "Or I was, until I was interrupted. You may leave any time, you know."

Granger glared at me. I glared right back. Evidently she saw something in my glare that convinced her that I wasn't going to back down, because she muttered something unintelligible and stalked off. Belle sighed.

"I tried," she intoned dramatically.

"Just give up," I counseled her. "You can't change my mind about her."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because there are people that you just don't like," I shot back. "Just deal with it."

She rolled her eyes at me. "I don't 'just deal' with anything," she informed me haughtily.

"Then you'd better find someone else to talk to."

"I like talking at you. You take it much better than 'Mione does."

I didn't answer, and she was called away by her parents a moment later. I watched her go, wondering just why I cared so much about her. She was just some muggle chick who happened to be fairly good looking. Yet I'd rather she didn't get in trouble because of me and I wanted to make sure that she stayed safe. What was _wrong_ with me? Surely I wasn't turning her into my friend, was I?

I don't make friends. It just makes life too hard when they leave. They all leave, eventually. It's yet another side effect of being famous in a bad way: people take to you for the challenge and thrill of danger, and then abandon you at the slightest hint of trouble. I've learned not to let them close. But Belle was different. Despite myself, I'd gotten dragged into the one relationship that I'd been trying so hard to avoid.

I sighed, turning away. This was getting complicated, and I didn't like. Little did I know that it was going to get far more complicated before anything simplified again. Ah, the naivety of youth.

* * *

Harry was enjoying himself immensely, despite the presence of Malfoy in an amazing number of the same places as them. He still couldn't quite believe that Belle spent so much time with the blond Slytherin, and she was remarkably elusive about what they said when they were together.

"It's none of your business," she told him sharply the third time he asked her. "What we choose to talk about has nothing to do with you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't it?" he asked.

"No, it doesn't," she said sharply. "And if you don't bugger off, then I'll ask him to put some kind of spell on you when we see him again. I'm sure he'd be delighted."

"I'm sure he would," Harry said darkly. "Look, be careful around him, will you?"

"Why, you think that he'll try and attack me on sight? If he was going to do that, wouldn't it be easier to do it the first time?"

"Be serious!" Harry insisted. "Malfoy's… well, how much has Hermione told you about… our world?"

"Nothing," Belle said grimacing.

"And with good reason," Hermione interjected, popping her head up from behind her trashy magazine. "If mum and dad knew what went on at Hogwarts, they'd never let me back!"

Belle lifted her eyebrows in curiosity. "Boyfriends?" she asked.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing a bright red. "It's nothing like _that_!"

Belle turned to Harry. "Is she lying?" she asked.

Harry glared at her. "You think I'd tell _you_ if she was lying or not?" he demanded. "If she wants to tell you about her romances, then it'll be her choice."

"So it _is_ boyfriends," Belle said triumphantly.

"No, it's not!" Hermione said, a little shrilly. "Oh, for God's sake! There's a homicidal maniac out there to kill Harry. He's tried, what, five times now?"

"Something like that," Harry agreed.

Belle whistled softly. "I can see why you don't want mum to know," she said. "But what's that got to do with Draco?"

"Getting there," Hermione promised. "See, this killer."

"Voldemort," Harry interjected. "He calls himself Lord Voldemort."

Belle raised her eyebrows, but didn't comment.

"Anyway, he's got followers that do his dirty work for him," Hermione continued.

"And Draco's one of them?" Belle asked.

"His parents are," Harry told her.

"So?"

"So, he probably is too," Harry said in exasperation.

Belle stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I get it," she said finally. "So you think he's talking to me to get at you, do you?"

"It would make sense," Harry said stiffly.

She shook her head. "Oh God, I don't know what to tell you, Harry. Just trust me, he's not out to kill you."

"How do you know?" Hermione demanded. "You can't tell someone's personality from just a few conversations."

She looked at the two of them knowingly. "Just trust me," she said again. "Draco has no intention whatsoever of hurting Harry. Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned and walked out the door and into the hallway of the hotel.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Well, we tried," he said dully.

Hermione was looking pensive. "You know," she said slowly. "She might just be onto something."

Harry stared at her. "You aren't going to tell me that you believe that Malfoy's innocent, are you?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "But he might just be looking for a distraction."

"With _Belle_?" Harry demanded. "Why ever would he choose_her_?"

"I heard that!" Belle shouted from the hallway. Both Harry and Hermione ignored her.

"She didn't know him," Hermione pointed out. "He might not even have known that she's my sister when he first started talking to her."

"Why would he waste his time with muggles?"

"Think about it!" Hermione insisted. "Probably the entire wizarding world knows that his father's in Azkaban. She didn't. Don't you think it would be refreshing to talk with someone who doesn't instantly condemn you for who your family is?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You _are_ defending him," he said in disbelief. "I can't believe this!"

Hermione sighed. "I'm not defending him," she repeated patiently. "I'm seeing things from his point of view."

"It amounts to the same thing," Harry said flatly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's no living with you when you're in this mood," she said dryly. "I'll talk with you again when you're willing to listen."

Harry just stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then stalked out of the room. He passed Belle, shamelessly eavesdropping, without even looking at her. He pulled open the door to his room and barely stopped himself from slamming the door closed. They didn't understand, he told himself firmly. They obviously didn't know Malfoy as well as they thought they did. Harry was certain that the blond sixteen-year-old was just toying with them all. Eventually he would strike, and Harry meant to be ready when he did.

* * *

"Will you go back to your Aunt and Uncle's when we get back, Harry?" Mr. Granger asked over a cup of airport coffee.

Harry shook his head. "My friend Ron's parents invited me to stay with them for the rest of the summer," he explained. "His dad will be picking me up at the airport."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "Mr. Weasley is coming?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

She grimaced. "You'd better hope that he's in a hurry," she muttered.

Harry looked at her in surprise. He'd thought she liked Mr. Weasley! He said as much, making her shrug.

"I like him," she said. "In his own world. When he gets into ours, he's a bit of a pain."

"You're a witch too, Hermione," Harry pointed out.

She blushed slightly, not answering.

"So what's this guy like?" Belle cut in.

Hermione looked at her gratefully. "He's obsessed with muggles," she said quietly, taking a delicate bite of her croissant. She swallowed, then added, "And he knows nothing whatsoever about them."

Belle grimaced. "I think I see where you're going," she said. "It's a bit like setting a dirt-poor child loose in a Toys R Us, right?"

Hermione nodded.

Belle winced. "Thanks for the warning," she muttered.

"Right gang, it's time to go," Mr. Granger announced, taking a look at his watch. He swallowed the last mouthful of coffee and stood. Harry and the other followed suit, and they walked briskly to Gate 14, where boarding for their row was being announced. Harry, now used to this, stayed with them easily as they waded through the masses of people and presented their tickets to the people at the desk. The girl on duty, a young girl of around eighteen, smiled dazzlingly at Harry. He felt himself smile back, then Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

Belle was laughing. "A bit late in the stay for conquests, isn't it?" she asked wickedly.

Harry glowered at her. "Stop right there," he warned. "I'm not going to take any more from you, understand?"

She grinned. "All right," she agreed.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Nothing in her voice or her face gave any indication of anything but complete sincerity, and he was convinced that she was planning something dreadful.

Sure enough, he found himself sitting next to a redheaded teenage girl instead of Belle. He twisted in his seat to glare at her. She shrugged. "She asked," Belle said.

Hermione, on Harry's other side, snorted. "And how much did she pay you?" she asked, not looking back.

Belle grinned and didn't answer. Harry looked at Hermione. "Make _her_ pay, will you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Depends on what she does for the next ten hours."

Belle grimaced. "_Ten_ hours?" she demanded. "You expect me to sit here for _ten_ hours?"

"You want to spend three months on a boat?" Mrs. Granger asked from across the aisle. "I've done it and, trust me, this way is better."

Belle hurriedly turned back to Harry and Hermione. "I'll be good, I promise," she said earnestly.

"You'd better be," Harry agreed. "We've only got ten more hours of freedom and then it's back to Madam Hopkirk we go."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, nodding to the redhead who was doing a bad job of pretending not to eavesdrop.

Harry shrugged. "She doesn't know who we are."

"Even so!" Hermione said.

"Aren't you even going to introduce yourself?" Belle demanded. "You're being a very inconsiderate seat-mate, you know."

Harry sighed and turned to the redheaded girl. "As you may possibly have gathered, I'm Harry."

She blushed slightly, reminding Harry strongly of Ron. "Cory," she said.

He smiled at her, and she blushed harder. Belle snickered. Harry's arm snaked between the seats and smacked her.

"Hey!"

"You deserved it," Harry told her firmly. He dug into the pouch in front of him and pulled out a magazine. It was in sad shape, but he leafed through it anyway. Hermione dove into a book and he soon put the magazine away and pulled out his copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_. Carefully masking the title and illustrations, he began to read it yet again.

The flight was remarkably painless. Cory turned out to be a seventeen-year-old American high school student, and she was full of stories of cliques and embarrassing tidbits about the football players. Harry laughed almost constantly, and found himself almost disappointed when she excused herself and fell asleep. He knew without even looking that Belle was grinning wickedly behind him.

He and Hermione talked in whispers about the new year at school, and he learned that she'd applied for an extra-credit class with Snape. He goggled at her. "Are you _insane_?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "I just want to see what it's like," she said. "Besides, I probably won't get in."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione, you know perfectly well that you'll get in. But_Snape_?"

"He's a good teacher, you know."

"He's a slimeball," Harry retorted.

"Harry!"

"Well, he is."

"I'm not asking permission, anyway. I've already applied."

He sighed. "So what do you think it'll be about?"

She eagerly detailed the course syllabus, which involved countless spells and potions that Harry had never even heard of. "And you'll need all of this?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Some of it. Some things are just things that we should know, and some are obviously just tests of skill. After all, no one's needed the ink-creating spell since the invention of self-filling inkbottles, but the spell itself's fiendishly hard. If we can master it, then we'll be able to do something that most adults can't manage."

"So you'll spend a year learning how to make ink?" Harry asked dubiously. "Doesn't sound worth it, to be perfectly honest."

"Oh it's not just archaic stuff," Hermione assured him. She dug around in her bag and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. "See, the first lesson's in the making of Veritaserum, and then we'll move into really advanced Transfiguration. It also says that all of us will be working on an additional project that will be done outside of class."

"So you have ideas already?" Harry asked.

She nodded, and launched into a seemingly interminable list of ideas and concepts that passed completely over Harry's head. As she talked, he gazed out the window and the seemingly endless carpet of clouds that unrolled steadily beneath them. He glanced at his watch. Amazingly, almost half of the flight had passed.

She finally ran out of words, and he grinned. "You do realize that I didn't understand a word of that, don't you?"

She shrugged. "You hardly ever do. If you tried harder you could, though."

He grimaced. "I have no desire to be a perfect student, Hermione. You know that."

She sighed, but didn't comment farther. After a moment, she turned back to her book and Harry dove back into _Quidditch_.

They forced down a little of the substance that they were informed was food, and then Belle switched seats with Hermione and she, Harry, and Cory played several games of Uno. Cory was decent at it, and the victories were split three ways, instead of only two. Harry wondered for one insane moment just how good Malfoy was at Uno. The moment he caught himself thinking that, he firmly clamped down on his imagination. He didn't care about Malfoy, and he wished he never had to see the git's face again. Of course he did!

The plane touched down at Heathrow in the midst of an incessant drizzle. Mr. and Mrs. Granger signaled them to sit tight, and apparently Cory's chaperones had given her the same instructions. They all stood, stretching muscles too long unused, and Harry slipped his book into the backpack that he'd bought at the New York airport. They were very useful things, and he'd resolved to find a way to bring it to Hogwarts with him. It was far easier to carry than his book-bag.

Finally, the plane had emptied out enough that they could move without fear of being crushed. Cory was long since gone, and Harry, Belle, and Hermione dutifully trailed Mr. and Mrs. Granger through the plane and out into the collapsible tunnel. They passed through muggle customs without any problems, and soon they'd stepped through the door and into the reception lobby.

Mr. Weasley was instantly recognizable, both by his flaming red hair and by the way he kept looking at all the pieces of machinery with open delight. Harry winced as he heard Mr. Weasley ask a harried-looking woman, "And_how_ does this little plastic card make money again?"

"Thanks for everything," he told Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "It was utterly amazing!"

"You're welcome," Mrs. Granger said fondly. "It was a pleasure having you."

"I'll see you on the train," Hermione said. He grinned at her.

"See ya," Belle told him. He scowled at her, and she rolled her eyes. Then, he hurried over to Mr. Weasley.

The woman he was drilling looked infinitely relieved when Harry drew Mr. Weasley away, and Harry smiled at her in apology. She didn't smile back, but walked swiftly away.

"Splendid to see you again, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, beaming. "How was the trip?"

"It was amazing," Harry said enthusiastically. He waved to Hermione, who waved back. "So how are we getting to the Burrow?"

"Molly made me promise to Apparate directly and not take any muggle transportation," Mr. Weasley said looking slightly downhearted. Harry, on the other hand, was relieved. He'd never Apparated anywhere, but it sounded far safer than going on muggle transport with Mr. Weasley.

"What about my trunk?" Harry asked. "All my school stuff's still with my aunt and uncle."

"Ron and Molly went to fetch your things yesterday," Mr. Weasley assured him. "The booklists came, and Ron knows what you usually take, so between them I imagine that you'll have everything you need. You can return that," he nodded as Harry's suitcase, trying to hide his fascination, "later if you want."

Harry shrugged, then went through a rapid explanation of the uses and as much as he knew of the mechanics of wheeled suitcases. Mr. Weasley looked utterly fascinated, and was about to ask questions, but he suddenly stopped himself, looking slightly embarrassed. Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley had given him a bit of a talking to.

They made their way to the wizarding office and passed through the barrier. The wizard on duty recognized both Harry and Mr. Weasley.

"H'lo Arthur," he said. "Everything work out all right with the ID, Harry?"

Harry nodded, wishing he could remember the man's name. Dexter, maybe, or Doran? "Thanks a lot."

Mr. Weasley looked at Harry sharply. "What's this?"

"Oh nothing to worry about," the man –it _was_ Dexter, Harry remembered suddenly– said. "Just muggle documentation. It's standard fare for wizards who forget to plan ahead." He looked knowingly at Harry as he said this, and Harry grimaced.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said slowly. "I can't say I approve, but…"

"Arthur!" a woman in fluorescent blue robes ran over to them. Her hair and eyes were the same color, and Harry frowned. Suddenly, he laughed.

"Hullo Tonks," he said.

"Hullo Harry," she said, beaming at him. He had a disturbing impression that her teeth were tinted a very slight blue as well, but decided that it must just be a reflection of the rest. Surely not even Tonks would dye her_teeth_!

"Arthur, Molly's on the floo connection," Tonks told Mr. Weasley. "She's shrieking a bit."

Mr. Weasley winced and passed through a door on his left where Harry could just glimpse Mrs. Weasley's head bobbing in the fireplace.

"So," Tonks said as Mr. Weasley closed the door behind him. "How was the land of the free?"

Harry grimaced. "Fine," he said, wondering whether or not to mention Malfoy.

Apparently he was transparent, because Tonks demanded, "What happened?"

He told her all about meeting Malfoy and his apparent interest in them. To his irritation, she didn't seem to find it nearly as important as he did. "The family's being watched constantly," she told Harry, idly turning one of her nails from blue to shocking pink. "I really don't think that he'd be dumb enough to try anything just now."

"But then what was he doing in America at the same time we were?" Harry demanded.

Tonks shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to check out some hot girls. You did say that Hermione's sister qualifies?"

Harry glared at her. "But he hates muggles!" he protested. "Why would he suddenly decide to start talking to _Belle_?"

"I don't know," Tonks admitted. He opened his mouth to argue again, but she shook her head. "Look, Harry. I promise that we'll take your words into consideration, all right? I just don't think that it all adds up, that's all."

He sighed. Just as he was marshalling his arguments for another try, Mr. Weasley stepped out of the communications room. "Harry, we'd better go. Molly's been worried, and the only way she'll be convinced that I haven't lost you is if she sees you for herself. Tonks, good to see you again. Try and stop by sometime soon. Molly would be glad to see you."

Tonks nodded. "I'll tell Moody what you told me, Harry," she promised. Mr. Weasley looked at her curiously, but she shook her head. "Sorry Arthur. Get Harry to talk." She closed her eyes, screwed up her face, and transformed into a young girl with bouncy brown hair and eerie gold-colored eyes. She grinned, revealing teeth that were thankfully nicely white, and gave them a little wave. "I'll try and stop by sometime soon," she promised. She turned and walked through the door and into the muggle airport.

"Right," Mr. Weasley said. "Follow me." Harry grabbed his suitcase and followed Mr. Weasley into another room. "Now, hold my arm and think of the Burrow. Let me do the work."

Harry took hold of Mr. Weasley's arm and closed his eyes, visualizing Ron's home. He felt his insides squeeze almost inside out, and for a single, terrifying moment, he thought that something had gone terribly wrong and that he'd been transported somewhere out into deep space. A second later, though, he was feeling almost normal again. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in front of the Burrow. Ginny was hanging out the window. When she saw them, she waved frantically, then popped her head back in, presumably to warn the others that they'd arrived. Harry felt something odd happen inside him at the sight of the familiar place, and grabbed his suitcase to follow Mr. Weasley up to the place that he thought of as his home.

* * *

_Second author's note: Sorry about the confusion in 1st person POVs. It was supposed to be just Draco, but Belle burst in and announced that she too wanted to speak in 1st person. sigh Fictional characters: can't reason with them. I expect you can figure out who is speaking through context. I'll label them if too many people can't, but I, at least, don't think it's too complicated to figure out. Then again, I wrote the story. shrug _


	4. 2: Beginnings 1

_There apears to have been some confusion in the last chapter. Just so everyone is QUITE clear on this point: this is NOT a HarryGinny story (I promise!), nor is it a DracoBelle (I mean, get a grip, people!). For all of you who know me, this should be obvious. As for Draco flirting with Belle, he was bored, she's hot, and it gets him closer to Harry. That's all he wanted.  
Oh yeah, and people? If you're going to bash my story, please don't do it in an anonymous review. That's just plain cowardly. Bash it all you want, just so long as I can answer it and explain exactly why it doesn't need bashing.  
None of the characters in this chapter are mine. I promise. Now, on to the story.

* * *

_

2: beginnings 

Harry arrived at the Burrow towards the middle of August. Ron's mum sent his trunk upstairs to Ron's room, then attempted to squeeze the life out of Harry himself. Harry returned her embrace, but Ron fancied that he could see a slight grimace of annoyance. Ron sympathized: he knew the feeling all too well. Harry finally escaped her crushing hold, only to receive two more, one from each of the twins. He pushed them away, laughing.

"I've been out of Malfada Hopkirk's reach all summer," he reminded them. "I might have forgotten that I can't do magic outside of school."

Fred and George exchanged glances. "We're terrified, aren't we?" Fred asked.

George nodded. As one, they dropped to their knees, hands clasped and extended towards Harry, the picture of humble supplicants.

"Forgive us our trespasses, oh noble protector of Weasleys," George intoned.

"Teach us to make mischief and break all rules," Fred put in.

"Allow us to learn from you and bask in your greatness."

"Give us the gift of galleons and permit us to use them to benefit you."

They paused for a beat, then said together, "A-money!"

Everyone burst out laughing, except for Mrs. Weasley, and they managed to bow while on bend knee. Harry grinned at them, and bent down to whisper something. They listened intently, then nodded. An intense dialogue ensued, until Harry stood straight again, apparently satisfied.

Ron gave Harry a curious glance. "Tell you when we get out of your mother's hearing," Harry muttered.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know the way to London?"

Harry laughed. "No. You?"

"Unfortunately not. Guess we'll have to shut ourselves up in my room."

Harry managed to extract himself from the rest of Ron's family, using unpacking as an excuse, and the two of them pounded up the stairs. Ron shut his door behind them, then turned to face Harry. "So what's going on between you and the twins? There's obviously something you're not telling us."

Harry's face took on a slightly guilty cast. "Promise you won't tell your mother?"

Ron nodded.

"They're making me special orders of all of their skiving snackboxes. I promised them to be their PR person at Hogwarts this year, and they decided that I should be able to give out samples."

Ron stared. "They never asked _me_ to do that!"

"That's because you report to your mum," Harry told him, grinning. "They have doubts about your ability to withstand an inquisition."

Ron felt his irritation atwith the twins build up. "I can! I didn't tell her all last year!"

Harry shrugged. "They also mentioned Hermione."

"Hermione?"

"They said that she wouldn't approve."

Ron's face was flaming. He resolved that he was going to personally murder both twins as soon as he possibly could. "Since when do I do things based on whether or not Hermione approves?"

There were two sharp cracks in succession, and Fred and George themselves popped into the room.

"What's that about Hermione?" Fred asked, dusting off his robes.

"Nothing!" Ron shouted, his face flaming. Why did they _do_ that to him?

"Nonsense! You were telling Harry, weren't you?"

"Telling Harry what?" Harry asked. He caught Ron's eye, a winked ever so slightly. "Are you telling me that you're in love with Hermione, George?"

George looked horrified. "_Me_?! Harry, who told you that?"

"You did," Harry answered.

"When?"

Harry grinned. "That would be telling."

Fred put on a mock frown, and advanced on George. "Is there something you're not telling me, George Maverick Weasley?"

George hung his head. "Curses, foiled again! You are going to be getting something nasty in your food tonight, Potter!"

Harry grinned. "Forewarned is forearmed," he intoned. Then his face changed. "_Maverick_?!" he spluttered, trying to contain his laughter.

George sighed. "It's long been the bane of my existence," he said sorrowfully. "Mum named me after a boy she knew at school."

Ron stared. "_What_?!" he demanded. "I didn't know that!"

"There are many things you don't know," Fred told him.

Harry was looking at Fred in interest. "So what's _your_ middle name?" he asked.

Fred and George exchanged glances, then shook their heads in unison. Ron snickered. Both turned to glare daggers at him. "If you say anything," Fred warned.

Ron held up his hands in innocence. "My lips are sealed," he said innocently.

They eyed him speculatively, but he knew them. They wouldn't press the threat, thinking him properly cowed. "Hey Harry, you want to play some Quidditch?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "Let me grab my broom." He bent down and flipped open his trunk, removing the broom from the top. He nodded to the twins, then followed Ron down the stairs. As soon as they'd left the house, Ron grinned.

"Delphinium," he whispered. Harry goggled at him, then burst out laughing.

* * *

Over dinner that night, Harry gave them all selected excerpts from his trip with Hermione. He had them all laughing by the end, and by the time they'd recovered, Ron had completely forgotten about George's threat to add something extra to Harry's meal. George obviously hadn't, though, because by the time Mrs. Weasley brought out the desert, he and Fred were exchanging gleeful looks. Fred looked down at his watch, as though counting down the seconds. Ron couldn't help glancing at his own watch. Three seconds to seven. He heard Fred counting down, and then suddenly, he felt an awful disintegrating feeling. A moment later, he was suspended from the chandelier. Harry was sitting on the window, looking distinctly surprised. Ron looked down at Fred and George, who were roaring with laughter. Mrs. Weasley was on her feet, wand out, but a moment later, Ron felt the disintegrating again. He landed with a thump on his chair, and slumped down to the floor. He scrambled back up, glaring at the twins. Harry had managed to land standing up, and he was wobbling precariously. He jumped off just before his chair toppled over, and steadied himself with the table before leaning down to pick it up again.

"What just happened?" Ron demanded. He'd thought that he knew all of Fred and George's tricks, but he'd never heard of something that transported someone across a room and back again.

George grinned. "Apparating Apparatuses," he said smugly. "For under aged wizards."

"Are you both _insane_?" Mrs. Weasley burst out. "There's a _reason_ that under aged wizards can't Apparate!"

"They're perfectly safe, mum," Fred assured her. "We put every safeguard that we know on them."

"How do they work?" Ginny asked, her eyes turning speculative.

"You tell it where you want to go, tap it with your wand, and eat it. It'll take you to the destination you requested. It's advised to have one in your pocket for the return," George explained.

Mrs. Weasley frowned disapprovingly. "What's to stop a child from using them?" she demanded.

"Well, you have to have a wand, for one," Fred said. "You have to have _your_ wand. And they're not on sale to under-elevens anyway."

"And they always work?" Ginny asked again.

George shrugged, and dug into his pocket. He produced two marble-like objects and handed them to Ginny. "They don't work in anti-apparition wards," he warned her. "And once you activate one, you have to use it within an hour or it goes dead and you have to throw it out."

Ginny nodded, looking slightly disappointed. She looked at the marbles in her hand, then pulled out her wand and tapped one. "The kitchen," she said clearly. She popped it into her mouth, then closed her eyes as she swallowed. They waited a beat, then there was a sharp crack, and she vanished. A moment later, they heard her delighted exclamations. "That is utterly _brilliant_!"

"Any time," Fred hollered. "Though you only get two free ones, you know."

She walked back into the dining room, pocketing the remaining Apparating Apparatus. "How much are they?"

"Depends on how many you want," Fred told her. "Remind me to send you our catalogue at school."

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat pointedly. "If you have all _quite_ finished," she said sharply.

Fred and George looked instantly contrite. "Yes mum," they said together. They exchanged wicked glances, and Mrs. Weasley hurried into the kitchen, muttering loudly about boys who were playing with fire.

George watched her go fondly. "Mum worries," he confided to Harry. "She thinks that we'll either accidentally kill someone else, or kill ourselves."

"Though we're not sure which she worries about more," Fred added. "Great to see you Harry, but we have to go. Appointment." He grimaced. The twins stood, and disappeared at the same time.

* * *

Harry had been watching Ginny ever since he arrived at the Burrow. Last year, he'd been completely obsessed with Cho, but now that she was out of his life, he had time to admire other girls. Ginny was very pretty, he thought, watching her haggle with George over the price of some of the more obscure items in their catalogue. More than that, in fact. She had a _presence_. You always knew when she entered a room, or, at least, Harry did. He knew that if he talked to anyone about his feelings for her, he would be hexed six ways to Sunday. Ginny had very protective brothers, all of whom were bigger than he was, and as he admired the way she fought with George, he realized what bothered him about that. It wasn't that it would stop him from being with her, though that could eventually be a problem. It was that Ginny did not need protection. She was strong, stronger than anyone Harry knew. Certainly, she was stronger than he was. She'd managed to keep Voldemort at bay for an entire year when she was eleven, while Harry had only been able to slow him down with the help of Ron and Hermione. No, Ginny Weasley certainly did not need protection.

But did she need what he wanted to give her? Harry didn't know, or even, for that matter, what it was that he wanted her to have. Why couldn't this be easy, like it had been with Cho? With Cho, Harry had finally admitted that he liked her, and she'd assumed that that meant taking her out on soppy dates to pink-infested coffee shops. Harrowing though the experience had been, at least, what Harry considered a proper date. Ginny, he was almost certain, had never set foot in Madam Puddyfoot's, and he couldn't imagine her wanting to take him there. He _could_, however, picture kissing her under the mistletoe quite clearly.

He stood and moved out of the room, trying to remove himself from the source of temptation. He couldn't have Ginny, and that was that. She was Ron's sister, and Harry didn't want to test his friendship with Ron that much. And then, of course, there was the fact that Ginny didn't seem to return his interest at all. Harry sighed in frustration. This was getting him nowhere, and he was tired of going in circles. The thought gave birth to an idea, and Harry grinned. If he was going to go in circles, he might as well be doing something constructive. He ran up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron and grabbed his Firebolt. He though briefly about taking off through the window, but regretfully decided not to. The window wasn't tall enough, and he didn't want to give Mrs. Weasley even more to worry about.

Instead, he ran lightly back down the stairs, and out the door. Once in the open area where generations of Weasleys had practiced Quidditch, Harry took off. He flew as high as he dared, and urged his Firebolt to faster speeds than ever. The air whipped his hair away from his face and stung his eyes, but he didn't care. He felt free, as he always did when he was flying, and he let go, urging the broom on with only his knees. He spotted the Burrow in the distance, and grinned in sheer delight. And then, he spotted the figure speeding towards him. Ginny. The very person he'd been trying not to think about. She was carrying a ball under her arm, and expertly maneuvering her own broom. When she got within shouting distance, she grinned wickedly. "I thought I'd find you here. Want to play?"

Harry shrugged. "I won't go easy on you," he cautioned.

"Good," she answered. "Look out!" She sped towards him, intent on the tree that they used as a goal hoop. He blocked her way, forcing her to swerve to avoid him. She lost her grip on the Quaffle as she did so, and he swooped to scoop it out of the air. He waved back at her as he zoomed towards the opposite end of the field, and deposited the ball in the other tree with a triumphant shout.

"You'd make a fair chaser," she said, scowling good naturedly, then grabbed the ball before it could fall.

"That's your job," he shouted back, trying to block her. She laughed as she swerved expertly and dropped the ball in her tree. The game continued, with both of them scoring points and rescuing the ball. Harry felt his troubles fly away as he laughed, content just to be in her presence. In all his agonizing about her, he'd forgotten that Ginny was most of all a _fun_ person to be with. Finally, they landed, breathless and laughing. "We should do that more often," she gasped when she'd recovered the ability to speak. "You're so much better than Ron."

"So are you," Harry said. "Are you going to try out for the team this year?"

She shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. Do you think I should?"

Harry was suddenly aware of how close they were. He thought about moving away, but she didn't seem to mind. "Yeah," he said, trying to control his voice. "Yeah, I think you should."

She stopped suddenly, and looked at him. "Harry?" she asked quietly. "Tell me the truth please. Are you doing this because I'm Ron's sister?"

Confused, he shook his head. "No. I'm spending time with you because I like you."

She looked relieved. She looked at the ball that she still held, and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Finally, she said quietly. "Harry, how much do you like me?"

He frowned. Was this a trick question? "A lot," he answered cautiously.

"Enough to ask me out?"

Harry's breath caught in his chest. "Yes," he whispered.

She finally looked up at him, and he felt his chest tighten at the look in her bright brown eyes. "Good," she said simply. She started walking away.

Harry was about to follow her, when he realized just what her words had meant and what he was supposed to do. "Ginny!" he called.

She stopped again, and he ran to catch up with her. "Do you want… I mean, would you like… I mean, will you go out with me?"

She smiled, but her eyes were boring into his. "Yes," she answered firmly.

"Good," Harry managed. She laughed and, after a moment, he joined in. He felt a release of all the tension that had built up in him, tension that he had barely been aware of until that moment. He slowly reached over and touched her. She looked at him, wide eyed, and he moved closer.

They walked back together eventually, holding hands.

* * *

And so, I got ready to start my sixth year at Hogwarts expecting it to be no different from the last five. My mother took me to Diagon Alley to purchase me school supplies two weeks before the start of school. I'd timed the trip to avoid most of the others: it was too soon for the last-minute people, and too late for the organized ones, but I was out of luck. I soon saw that just about everyone else from Hogwarts had had exactly the same idea, and bunches of students were being escorted around by anxious looking mothers and fathers. My own mother seemed to be attached to me by the hip, and she didn't seem about to leave any time soon. I endured her clucking and fussing for a while, but finally, I lost my temper. "I _am_ capable of shopping alone, Mother," I informed her tartly when she showed no sign of leaving after an hour and a half.

She didn't answer, but she didn't leave, either. I gritted my teeth together, and decided to leave at the soonest opportunity. I endured her company at Madam Malkin's, then sneaked out as she was discussing prices and fashion with one of her acquaintances.

I wandered down the street, hoping against hope that I wouldn't run into Harry and his cronies. Naturally, as life is so often kind, I spotted them almost immediately. Even more naturally, they spotted me as well. Weasley was the one who saw me first, and he muttered something, almost certainly something rude, to Harry and the Granger girl. They too, I noticed, had managed to ditch their accompanying adult. We advanced towards each other until we met halfway, standing in the middle of the road. "I thought you'd be with your mum, Malfoy," Weasley jeered. "Isn't she worried that her son will go the same way as her husband?"

"Shut up, Weasley," I snarled. "You wouldn't be so brave if you didn't have Potter and Granger to protect you!"

"Ron's more than a match for _you_, Malfoy," Harry shot back. "Unlike you, he actually _passed_ his OWLs."

"And what makes you think I didn't pass, Potter?" I asked. I had, in fact passed all my OWLs, and managed even to collect two Outstanding grades. I was willing to bet that he'd at least failed History of Magic, seeing how he'd collapsed mid-way through the exam. It gave me a feeling between happiness and guilt to realize that I'd done better than him.

"Let's get out of here," Granger begged. "We don't need to associate with him."

They turned away. I could see that Weasley was the angriest, as usual. That caused a slight hollow in my chest. Harry had learned to tune me out, and I apparently didn't even register as anything more than a minor annoyance on his radar. The fact made my inner heart want to weep, but I've learned to shut that part out of my own radar over the last six years. If I'm going to survive in the real world, I have to face things the way they really are. That was a hard lesson to learn, but I think I've mastered it at last.

I watched them walk away, then hurried on to do my own shopping. It was only a matter of time until my mother caught up, and when she did, I knew that I had to have finished my personal shopping. I headed towards the end of the alley, and turned a corner. There, in the dingy shops that most people didn't realize existed, I spotted the shop I was looking for. I slipped inside the shop that my mother would never have allowed me to set foot in, and stood for a moment, savoring the aura of the place.

I've always been fascinated with what I suppose can be called the darker aspects of wizardry. Not the actual Dark Arts (despite my father's efforts in my earlier life), but the things that are not generally talked about in mainstream society. This particular shop, one of the countless anonymous venues that lined this alley, had exactly what I wanted for prices I could afford. I may be the only heir to the Malfoy family, but I'm still underaged, and therefore don't have access to the entire fortune yet. Though my pocket money is still more that the Weasleys' own all together. I ducked into a corner of the shop and quickly preformed a subtle charm on myself: enough to change my appearance slightly, but not enough for anyone I knew not to recognize me. The owners of this place know who I am, but any customers who might wander in would be better off not realizing that the son of a convicted Death Eater was patronizing this particular shop.

Suitably disguised, I made my way out into the open again. I wandered through the rows of interesting objects, being careful not to touch anything, and stopping to examine the ones that seemed to be interesting. I didn't know yet if I was going to buy anything. I never do, until I've looked at the entire stock. The owner of the place, thankfully, didn't feel the need to come and assist me. He appears to have realized long ago that anyone who came into his shop was better off on their own, and that if they needed his help, they'd demand it. So, I wandered among the questionable objects alone, lost in my thoughts.

These thoughts were, as usual, about him. Much as I dislike it, Harry Potter dominates my mind most of the time when I'm alone. This time, I didn't even bother trying to deny my wistful mind its right to daydream, and I drifted through the shelves imagining him next to me. Finally, though, I had to come back to the real world. I'd reached the end of the stock, and my time was ending. I made my decision quickly and grabbed a small black object. I was almost certain that I knew what it was, and if I was wrong… well, that's the fun of experimenting, right?

I placed the thing on the owner's desk, alerting his attention in the process. He didn't try to talk, only grunted at me and muttered something intelligible that ended with, "Seven galleons." I frowned at him, then back down at the black disk. If it was what I thought it was, then it wasn't worth seven, it was worth about seventy. But I wasn't about to argue, and I fished into my pocket and came up with the required change. The owner took it without comment, and I took the disk and shoved it into my pocket as I turned to leave. Just as I was about to walk away, the owner called out. That was such an unusual event that I actually stopped.

"What did you say?"

The owner beckoned me closer. I complied, and he murmured, "D'you know what it is you're buying?"

"It's a power receptacle," I answered, wondering why he was bothering. I'd already paid for the thing, so why was it his problem?

He shrugged. "If that's what you want to think," he said. "Just know this: it can take more than you're willing to give."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, but he only shook his head and returned to whatever he'd been so fervently contemplating for the rest of my visit. Surprised and profoundly curious, I left the shop and removed my glamour. I was most certainly going to have to do some experiments on it, and soon!

I found my mother looking anxiously around for me, and I had to survive an angry lecture about the dangers of wandering around alone, especially for me. I hardly listened to any of her scoldings, dwelling instead on the receptacle. I had no idea what he meant, unless he'd been trying to tell me that it stole power. I'd known that perfectly well when I bought the thing, and that was one of the things that had attracted me to it. There are times in your life when you could really use someone else's power. Or at least, someone else being powerless. I supposed that there might be side effects to absorbing too much, but they would be minor, and I had complete faith in my ability to dominate any magical object. I was rather a fool, I know, but all people are.

She dragged me out of Diagon Alley almost literally by my wrist, and wouldn't even let me go to floo out of the Leaky Cauldron. Once back to the Manor, she took all of my school things and gave inaudible instructions to the House-Elf, presumably telling it to see to the packing. Then, she announced that she was going to her room, and that I was not to leave the property. I agreed and she left me to my own devices. I waited until I was sure she was gone, then ran up the stairs to my own room.

* * *

Getting ready for a new school year has always been something that I particularly dread. It's not so much that I don't like school, though I don't care for it much, but it's mostly the loss of almost absolute freedom. Even when my father was home, he could really care less about what I did over the holidays, and I was left to my own devices. To be perfectly honest, I was almost raised more by the succession of House Elves than by my parents. I adored my mother, and she seemed to return the sentiment, but she wasn't actually there very often. When she was home, she would spend time with me and tell me stories and run up the stairs just to slide down the banister with me, but more often than not, she wasn't home. When I was younger, I thought that she was a very important person, and I was immensely proud of her. As I grew older and learned just who my father was and what it meant, I realized that she spent time away from home to avoid meeting him.

This year, it should have been less stressful. After all, my father wasn't going to burst into my room and lecture me about the duties and privileges of being a prefect. Last year, I'd been lectured to an inch of my life about how Malfoys had always been prefects, and about how I was continuing a long held tradition. It was enough to make me sick. Quite honestly, I hadn't wanted to be a prefect at all, and I certainly hadn't wanted to have it rubbed in even more. I was sure that my father expected me to abuse my power and give the Gryffindors hell (which I had duly done, even managing to summon a certain amount of joy in the process). Now that he wasn't yelling at me, I found myself strangely disconcerted. It had been like that all summer. I supposed that that was yet one more reason why I'd gone to America. At the Manor, his presence was everywhere. I kept expecting him to burst into whatever room I was currently occupying and demand to know what I was doing. When he didn't, I realized that it scared me even more than his actual presence. There's nothing worse than the devil you can see, except for the devil you can't.

I slipped on a pair of black jeans, wishing momentarily that I could wear them at school. They were amazingly comfortable, and, by my standards, affordable. Of course, by my standards, most things are. I supposed that the Weasleys would have a harder time buying jeans for all their children. Not that I cared, of course. The Weasleys could all drop dead and starve, for all I cared. I looked at my prefect badge, hating the piece of green metal. There would be no point in putting it on yet, and I slipped it into my pocket. I pulled on a long sleeved back T-shirt, one that clung to my figure enough to show it off. I am proud of the way I look, and see no problems with letting the world know it. I arranged my ice blond hair carefully, wondering if I should get it cut. Long hair was fashionable, but it did tend to get in the way. Finally, I decided to leave it the way it was. It wasn't _that_ long, after all. I pushed open the door and walked down the stairs. My mother was waiting for me, and she smiled encouragingly as I opened the door to leave. "Good luck," she said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I smiled back at her, and then left the house. My trunk was already in the car, and I got into the back seat without saying anything to the driver. I didn't even know who it was.

We arrived at the station, and the driver opened the door for me. He pulled my trunk out the car and loaded it onto a trolley. Not waiting for him to catch up, I lengthened my stride until I reached the wall between platforms 9 and 10. I barely bothered to check for muggles, and walked through the barrier to platform 9¾, not waiting for the servant. He would come without my having to wait. My eyes were scanning the platform for Harry. I wasn't at all sure whether I wanted to see him or not, but looking for him has become such an engrained habit that I hardly noticed it. Yes, he was there, talking with Weasley and Granger. The Weasley girl was hanging around, and I realized very quickly just what they were to each other. I felt the familiar tug that was both anger and jealousy, and turned away. They didn't look at me, and I didn't look back again.

* * *

Though he hadn't reacted, Harry had seen Malfoy. He was hard to miss, walking around as if he owned the place. And, of course, his clothes hardly made him inconspicuous. The jean were _very_ tight, as was the shirt, and Harry finally had to admit that he saw a very tiny bit of what Belle had seen in Malfoy. He'd said as much to Hermione, who shrugged. "Doesn't change who he is, though."

Ron looked at the two of them curiously. "Mind telling us what you're talking about?" he asked. Ginny nodded. Harry ignored the thrill of pleasure that he felt at her interest.

He looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "We ran into him this summer," she explained. Ron gave her a look that clearly stated that this was not enough. She sighed. "My younger sister decided to flirt with him."

"You have a younger sister?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Why didn't you ever say?"

"You've just never been listening," Hermione said. "I have a younger sister named Belladonna Athena Granger. She is a muggle and she is going into what would be her fifth year."

"Athena?" Ginny asked, hiding a grin.

"It's a family thing," Hermione said.

Ron looked confused. "Who's Athena?"

"She was the Greek Goddess of wisdom," Harry explained. Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. He shrugged. "It was one of the few subjects in primary school that I was actually good at." He grinned, remembering. "Dudley tore my report card up when he learned that I'd done better than him in History."

"That doesn't seem to have carried over into History of Magic," Hermione said dryly.

Harry shrugged. "Hermione, you know perfectly well that you are probably the only person in the history of Hogwarts who can actually remember what Binns says. It has nothing to do with anyone's actual skills in the subject, mine included."

She wisely chose not to pursue the topic, instead asking Ginny about her summer. As the two girls moved off towards the train, Ron said, "Harry, the truth now. Why was Malfoy following you?"

Harry looked at him gratefully. Finally, someone who agreed with him! "I don't know," he admitted. "Do you have any ideas?"

"No. What did he and Hermione's sister talk about?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said, grimacing. "She wouldn't tell me. She insisted that he wasn't out to get us, though." He frowned, remembering that conversation. It hadn't gone well at all, and he described his confrontation to Ron. "She kept insisting that he was telling the truth," he said. "But she doesn't know him. And she wouldn't say anything else, just that he wasn't out to get us."

Ron's face tightened as he listened. "Maybe it'd be in everyone's best interest to find out the details," he said. "She has no idea who he is."

"We tried to explain it to her," Harry said. They were moving with the flow of students, maneuvering their trunks around knots of still talking students and adults. "Maybe she didn't get it. I don't _think_ that Belle would give anything away, but she might not know what's important and what's not."

Ron nodded. "I'll ask Dad to forward a letter. I think he knows how to do it the muggle way. He might be able to get her to talk."

"Thanks," Harry said, wondering just what Mr. and Mrs. Granger would say when an envelope covered in stamps appeared in their letterbox. He suspected that they would take it substantially better than Aunt Petunia had. "I told Tonks about him. She said she'd look into it."

"That's better than nothing," Ron said. "How did she take it?"

Harry grimaced. "She didn't believe that he was trying to hurt us," he admitted.

Ron scowled. Before he could say anything else, the whistle that meant last call blew. The two boys boarded the train hurriedly and sat down with Hermione and Ginny, still engrossed in their respective summer holidays. Luna Lovegood drifted in after a little while and put her trunk in the overhead compartment without even appearing out of place. Ginny gave her a brief smile, then turned back to her conversation. Neville ran in just before the train was about to leave and breathlessly shoved his trunk next to Luna's. Harry was forcibly reminded of the airplane. In his mind, he heard the flight attendants' speech: _Please be careful when placing items in the overhead lockers, as they may fall out and injure someone._ Neville's trunk certainly looked capable of doing just that. Harry wondered if he would be able to get away with rearranging it, but decided just to make sure that he wasn't underneath it. He tried to move without being noticed, and ran into Hermione, doing the same thing. They traded glances, and he realized that she had had the exact same thought as him. They compromised by putting the Danger Trunk in the middle.

* * *

Harry should have been expecting Malfoy, of course. The Slytherin boy never lost an opportunity to torment Harry, and it had only been luck that had made Malfoy let him be over the summer. The only real surprise was that Malfoy was alone. There was no sign of either Crabbe or Goyle, and Harry summarized that they must have failed their OWLs. There was no point in coming back to school if you couldn't do anything.

Ron had come to the same conclusion, because he sneered. "Where are your two bodyguards, Malfoy? You think you'll be brave enough to take any of us on without them?"

"Shut up Weasley," Malfoy snarled. "I don't need anyone to protect me from you."

"Oh yeah?" Ron asked, standing up. His hand moved to his wand. Malfoy's did the same.

"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy asked, completely ignoring Ron. "Are you afraid to help your friend?"

Harry stood as well. "Ron doesn't need my help, Malfoy," he said. "He's more than capable of taking you down. All of us are. Or have you forgotten what happened last year?"

The dark look on Malfoy's face suggested that, no, he hadn't forgotten at all. His wand was pointed in an instant. "Are you trying to fight me, Potter?" he demanded. "If you are, why don't you just say it? I'd be more than happy to oblige you."

Harry shrugged. Hermione grabbed his arm. "Harry, don't!"

This seemed to annoy Malfoy even more. "Hiding behind the mudblood, Potter?" he asked, shooting Hermione a disgusted glare. "And you say that _I'm_ a coward. At least I can defend myself. I don't rely on a girl, a _mudblood_ girl, to protect me and get me out of scrapes!"

This was too much. Both Ron and Harry threw themselves on Malfoy. Hermione, though she made a token attempt to stop them, didn't seem too distressed. Luna, classically, wasn't even aware of what was happening, and Neville was trying to make himself unnoticed. Harry barely had time to take all this in before he was on Malfoy, trying his best to hurt the other boy so badly that he wouldn't be able to come back ever again. Ron seemed to share his sentiment, and they would almost certainly have killed him if the trolley witch hadn't intervened. Harry had never seen her do magic, though he'd always assumed that she was a witch, so when he felt himself being thrown away from Malfoy and back into his seat, the first person he looked at was Hermione. Hermione was staring at the trolley witch, though, and when Harry turned his attention to her, he saw that there was a long, pale white wand held in her hand. She was looking furiously at him and Ron, and when she had their full attention, she said, "Never have I seen such conduct! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" She turned to Malfoy, who was curled up in a ball on the floor of the train, tears streaming down his face. She clucked in sympathy, and preformed a series of quick healing charms. He stood, and glared at Ron and Harry. The trolley witch said something to him, and he glared one more time, then stalked out of the carriage. The trolley lady left as well, not even offering them anything to eat. Neville had to run after her to buy a package of Cauldron Cakes, which he split with Luna.

* * *

The train ride to Hogwarts started out much the same as always. I sat with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini and listened to them bicker. I was under the vague impression that they'd gotten together over the summer and that it wasn't going all that well, but I didn't really care. Blaise is all right, I guess, but Pansy really gets on my nerves. She attempted to hook up with me last term, but I made it quite clear that I wasn't interested. She pouted for most of the end of the year, then apparently found someone else to sink her teeth into. I wondered if I should pity Blaise, then decided that it wasn't worth the effort. He'd lived with her for the last five years, after all. He knew what he was getting into.

About halfway there, I stood up and announced that I was going to take a look around. The barely acknowledged me, still wrapped up in their quarrel, and I slid out into the corridor. I did this every year, sort of as a warm up, and I wondered sometimes why I bothered. They weren't going to treat me any differently as the years went by, and I had to get my heart crushed a little more when he looked at me with hatred. I am, of course, well aware that much of that hatred is my own fault. Ever since he refused to be my friend when we were eleven, I've been an absolute ass to him and his little friends. Still, it'd be nice if he made an effort to break the cycle of hate. Of course, I know that I'm almost certainly living in a dream world. I'm a firm believer in dreams, though, and don't find anything wrong with living in dream worlds. Not all the time, of course, but when it's needed.

And so, I made my way over to the carriage that contained Harry Potter. True to form, I barged in. Also true to form, they all looked suitably irritated. Unusually, though, it was them who started the argument. I honestly hadn't planned what I was going to say, but the biting responses to their comments seemed to fall out of my lips without my thinking about it. Unfortunately, I went too far. Again. Curses, I was prepared to take. I was used to being cursed, and I knew basically what to expect. But I hadn't been physically beaten for too long, unless you counted the Quidditch game last year, and I'd gotten soft. It hurt. It hurt a lot. They showed no sign of stopping, and it was fairly obvious that, had the trolley witch not intervened, I would have arrived at Hogwarts missing some teeth, at least. I hadn't thought that they would react so strongly to the insult to the Granger girl, which I suppose was stupid. I should have remembered that Harry and Weasley took them much more personally that Granger herself.

Though the trolley witch's spells had apparently restored my looks, it hadn't really done anything to dull my inner pain, and I wanted nothing more than to grab my broomstick and fly so high and fast that my pains and tears couldn't catch up. Except that many of them took the form of Harry Potter, who could. Back in my own carriage, I sat starring out the window, envisioning my escape, and carefully not listening to Pansy and Blaise, who'd apparently made up. They weren't kissing, thankfully, but I could sense one coming. I wondered if I could slip out again before it happened. Sugary romance has always sickened me.

In the event, they chose to postpone the kiss until they actually got to Hogwarts, and I even managed to have a sensible conversation with Blaise while Pansy went off to talk with her newest female ally. He'd passed all the OWLs I had, and we suspected that we'd be in all the same classes. It wouldn't be the ideal combination, but it was better than having all of my classes with people I can't stand. The rest of the journey passed, as usual, in silence. I haven't found anyone in the House of Snake worth talking to for long periods of time, and they're the only ones that I socialize with. Instead of socializing, I found myself planning the year. I never follow the plans that I make on the train, but it's always fun to try. My fantasy plans for the coming year involved rather a lot of bullying, abusing power, and talking to Harry. Yes, he's never far from my thoughts, but at least I only lust after him in my own mind. Unlike Pansy, who allows anyone who cares and most of us who don't to know the sordid details of her many love lives.

And so, I traveled in silence. When we finally reached Hogsmeade, I stood and stretched lazily. I was eagerly anticipating getting there, not so much for the feast as for the blessed solitude of my study that would follow. First, though, there was the annual speech and sorting, and I supposed that I would have to get through those, just as I'd done every year since I'd arrived. Pansy and Blaise were still talking, and I listened slightly when I heard my own name, but it was just a passing reference, and it was gone as fast as it had appeared. I ignored them again. The horseless carriages pulled us smoothly up the path to Hogwarts, and, almost before I realized it, we had arrived. I climbed out of the carriage ahead of Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent Bulstrode, who'd joined us without my noticing. Millicent didn't speak much more than I do, but most of the time, you knew when she was nearby. She had a very commanding presence, and my not having noticed that she was here spoke volumes about my preoccupation. I tried very hard to pull my mind out of my own head and back into the real world. It was a good thing that I did so, because it allowed me to bypass Peeves and his "highly amusing" trick of trying to set students' robes on fire.

The Great Hall was as packed and noisy as always. I slipped into the middle of the Slytherin table. It was a symbolic gesture, mostly, but it was enough. The double doors opened, and McGonagall came in leading a scraggily line of terrified first years. I looked them over impassively, wondering how many of them would be admitted into the House of Snake. McGonagall herded them into a roughly straight line, then Flitwick advanced and placed the Sorting Hat on the traditional stool. There was a hush throughout the Great Hall, and then the hat split near the brim and began to sing.

_Every year, it is my task,  
__To sort you into houses.  
__Ever since this school began,  
__That job I have fulfilled.  
__But, magical hat as I am,  
__I long ago began to doubt,  
__The wisdom of this task.  
__So, though I shall do as I am bid,  
__I must caution you all.  
__Enemies of our world,  
__Will fight through hatred and strife.  
__Only united will they be beaten,  
__And only together will we win._

_And now, my message has been told,  
__And I will continue to part you all,  
__For that is what I was enchanted to do.  
__For those clever, ambitious, and talented,  
__Willing to break a few rules,  
__For you is the house of the noble snake,  
__Also known as Slytherin.  
__You who, instead, turn to books for the truth,  
__And believe in the wisdom of your elders,  
__I propose the soaring eagle,  
__The house by the name of Ravenclaw.  
__If your heart is what guides you,  
__And you wish to be open and welcoming,  
__I give you the calming Badger,  
__Emblem of the house of Hufflepuff.  
__And finally, for you who are brave and true,  
__And will not refuse a challenge,  
__It is the roaring lion who will guide you,  
__Through the house of Gryffindor.  
__You now know what to think,  
__I have told you what to expect.  
__Let the sorting begin!_

There was a moment of silence, then everyone seemed to remember where they were, and they burst into applause. I too clapped politely, but I was concentrating on the song. Was that hat telling us to all become one big happy family? That was certainly what it had sounded like, and I had to admit that it was highly improbable. No one from Gryffindor would even dream of being friends with a Slytherin, and the sentiment was entirely mutual. For that matter, no self-respecting Slytherin would be friends with _anyone_ who wasn't also in the House of Snake.

McGonagall had begun to call out the names of the first years, and I supposed that I should pay attention. I couldn't concentrate on the names, though, and by the time she reached Zula, Kristy (Ravenclaw), I couldn't have said how many of the first years had been sorted into Slytherin. I supposed that I should at least remember their names, but that would come later. What was important was that they knew who _I_ was, right?

When the Feast was finally over, I let Pansy round the first years up and herd them towards the stretch of wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. "Serpantard," Pansy said clearly. The wall faded, leaving a hole that we clambered through. "That's the current password," Pansy informed the first years as the wall closed behind us. "It will change around Halloween, and we'll communicate the new password to you when that happens. My name is Pansy Parkinson, and I am the sixth year prefect. My partner is Draco Malfoy." I looked them over, then nodded. "You can come to either of us if you have a problem," she said. "Girls, your dormitory is on the right. You'll be sleeping with the second year girls, so they should tell you how it works in this House. Boys, you sleep on the left. You get a dormitory to yourself, but that doesn't mean that you'll be allowed to stay up all night. Professor Snape, the head of our House, checks the dormitories, and you do not want to get caught by him. Now, I think that's all." She moved off, and the first years dispersed. I slipped away and headed towards my study. Once I'd arrived, I locked the door by both physical and magical means, and dropped myself into the familiar green chair. The House Elf had seen to it that my trunk was already here, and that the sheets were fresh. I undressed and climbed into bed, falling asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

* * *

Hermione too paid little attention to Dumbledore's speech. Her eyes were indeed fixed on the high table, but the man she was looking at was not the Headmaster. Professor Snape was sitting next to him, scowling at the world, and looking generally unpleasant. She couldn't keep her gaze off him.

Finally, Dumbledore sat down and the food appeared on the table. Hermione tore her eyes off the high table and began to eat. It was delicious, as always, and she kept her face firmly turned away from Ron, so that his perpetual shoving of food into his mouth wouldn't completely ruin her appetite.

"So who do you think the new Defense teacher will be?" Harry asked. Hermione noticed that he too was looking away from Ron.

She shrugged. "Whoever it is, I can only hope that he'll be better than some of the idiots we've had."

Ron snorted. "You seemed pretty fond of Lockheart, and he was the biggest idiot of the lot."

Hermione's face flamed. "Ron!" she hissed. "I was _twelve_!"

He shrugged. "He was still an idiot, though."

"Dumbledore didn't say anything," Harry cut in hurriedly. "Maybe he doesn't know yet."

Hermione looked at him gratefully. "Are you taking the class?"

"I think so. You?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course she is! She's taking _all_ of them, isn't she?"

"No," Hermione protested. "I'm taking eleven classes, that's it."

"That's _it_?!" Ron spluttered. "Hermione, I'm only taking _five_."

She sniffed. "Just because _you're_ willing just to coast along at the bare minimum doesn't mean that the rest of us are," she informed him. "_Some_ of us care about our future careers."

"I care!" he protested. "But I don't see how taking eleven classes is going to help me with my future."

"That depends on what you want. If you're happy just taking a job as a janitor in the Ministry, then go on and keep this up. I can assure you, though, that if you want a _real_ job, then you're going to need those NEWTs."

He glowered at her. "I'm taking five," he repeated sulkily. "So's Harry, isn't he?"

"I think so," Harry admitted. "But I don't know what I'm going to do when I get out of school. I haven't really thought that far ahead, you understand."

There was a silence during which Hermione had a startling revelation. 'He doesn't believe that he'll survive,' she realized with a start. 'He thinks that he'll be killed.'

Ron evidently came to the same conclusion, because he stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. "You might want to start," he said firmly. "I mean, it's only a couple years away now."

Harry opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. Finally he said quietly, "Yeah. Only a couple of years."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Harry seemed to realize what they were thinking, because he made an effort to smile. "I'll think about it," he said. "Any suggestions?"

Ron smiled back. "You could always go professional," he suggested. "Any team would be glad to have you, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't you think of _anything_ else?" she complained. "That's all you ever talk about, you know."

"Quidditch is amazing!" Ron protested. "It's not our fault, is it?"

"You could find something else to talk about," she suggested, without much hope of success. They were obsessed, and she knew that she would just have to live with it until they found something new to get obsessed about. She hoped that it would be soon. It was almost as bad as her father watching Rugby matches every Saturday without fail.

They finished their meals and Hermione stood up. "First years!" she called authoritatively. "First years, follow me." The cluster of frightened and bewildered eleven-year-olds trailed after her, making her think of sheep. She grinned, then sobered. She couldn't be calling them that to their faces, or they would accuse her of patronizing them. She remembered being eleven, and she knew just how frightened and proud they must be. They would only be her sheep in her own mind.

They got to the Gryffindor common room, and she let them in, making sure all of them knew the password. Once inside, she introduced herself and Ron, explained life at Hogwarts slightly, and sent them off to their dormitories. As they trouped away and she and the two boys watched them go, she sighed. Ron looked at her curiously. "I was just remembering what it was like on my own first day," she explained. "I was absolutely terrified, and convinced that I was going to hate it here."

"And did you?" Harry asked.

"At first," she admitted. "Then it got better."

Ron blushed beet red. "Sorry I was such a prat to you," he muttered.

She shrugged. "I lived," she said dismissively. "And you can't help being a prat, it's in your nature."

He scowled at her. "I am a prefect," he reminded her haughtily. "I can take points away from you, you know!"

"So am I," she shot back. "And you know as well as I do that you won't take points away from your own house. We've barely scraped the Cup in the last years the competition's been held."

"You think that we'll get it again this year?" Ron asked.

"We'd better," Harry said. "Just think what a disgrace we'd be to Fred and George if we failed to win it on their first year away. They'll think we're incompetent."

Hermione snorted. "They're more likely to think that we slacked off on the pranks," she said. "I don't recall them being happy about winning the cup, just about beating Slytherin."

Harry shrugged. "Even so. Besides, maybe without them we'll stand a better chance."

"Maybe," Ron agreed. "Though aren't you supposed to be spreading mischief in their place?"

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "What's this about spreading mischief?" she demanded.

Harry grimaced. "Ron!" he complained. "That was supposed to be a secret!"

"Sorry," Ron muttered.

"Well, now it's out. Spill!" Hermione commanded.

Harry sighed. "Fred and George recruited me as their PR-person," he said reluctantly. He glared at Ron. "And they haven't sent me their stuff yet, so I can't start."

"Oh," Ron said. "But eventually you'll get them, right?"

Harry nodded. "And when I do, you won't get to help me."

"Why not?!" Ron demanded.

Harry grinned at him. "Because they won't want to pay you," he answered. "And why would you do it without being paid?"

"They could give me free samples," Ron protested.

"In your dreams," Harry shot back. He looked at Hermione, shrugging. "I tried."

She scowled. "And what do you intend to do when they_ do_ get here?" she demanded.

He grinned. "I intend to advertise," he said simply. "And I promised them that I'd give out free samples."

"And what about me?"

"What about you? They've all been tested, and I won't do it in person. You know how gossip works."

"So what are you going to do, act like some kind of drug dealer?" She heard her voice rising, and fought to control herself.

He looked shocked. "Of course not!" he said fiercely. "What kind of person do you think I am, anyway? The flyers go up in the common rooms, and those who are interested owl Fred and George, or they talk to me and I give them samples."

"And how will they know to talk to you?"

Harry grinned again. "That's the truly genius part of it. The flyers are, as Fred and George put it, slightly psychic. Adults see nothing but another boring notice, students see the flyers, those who want to buy straight away see the address in Diagon Alley, and those who are skeptical see me."

She had to admit that it had potential. "And if you're caught?"

"I won't be. The kind of person who buys jokes isn't the kind who'd turn someone in to a teacher."

"I suppose. And just when are these things supposed to arrive?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. They'll come by owl, but I expect Fred and George to have devised some sort of concealment method. It wouldn't do for me to get stacks and stacks of paper, after all."

"True," Hermione admitted. She sighed. "I suppose that I can't talk you out of this?"

He shook his head. "Sorry."

She waved his apology away. "I'll live with it. Just… be discreet, will you?"

He nodded. "I promise," he said.

"Then I suppose I'll live." She yawned. When she'd finished, she added, "I think I'm going to turn in. See you boys in the morning."

They nodded, and she made her way to the girl's dormitory. She climbed the stairs and went into the room that she'd lived in for the last five years. She passed through the door and rummaged through her trunk, coming up with her pajamas and cosmetics. After quickly readying herself for bed, she delved back into the trunk and came up with a book. Checking the title to see what she'd grabbed, she grinned and settled into the magical world of J. R. R. Tolkein.

* * *

_Author's note: Yes, I know my poetry sucks. I write stories, not epics. Sorry._


	5. 2: Beginnings 2

_Author's note: Sorry it's been so long. I've been a bit overwhelmed with school stuff, not to mention more than a little preoccupied with other stories (which are also being posted here, under the fairy tale category, so if you want to take a look...) But I'm back now, and here is more of Emerald. Hope you like it!  
_

* * *

The timetables were delivered, as usual, at breakfast the next day. Harry and Ron glanced at theirs, exchanging them to see how many classes they had together. Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defense. Harry had Care of Magical Creatures as well, more a symbolic gesture of support for Hagrid than anything else, and Ron had, reluctantly, continued with History of Magic. Hermione, of course, was taking all of the same classes as before, plus the advanced magic course that she'd gotten into. Ron looked shocked at that, but her expression made it clear that there was to be no comment. He only shrugged and turned back to Harry.

"Mum threw a fit when I said I was only taking four classes," he said darkly. "She made me take another one, and History of Magic's the only other one that I passed."

"What about Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked, surprised.

Ron shrugged. "I know Hagrid won't care, but, well, to tell you the truth, no."

Harry sighed. "Well, I flunked Divinations, so we're equal."

"So did I," Ron reminded him.

"And I passed out in the middle of History. We're still equal."

"I wonder who the new Defense teacher is," Hermione said, looking at their timetables.

Harry shrugged. "Whoever they are, they weren't here last night. You think that Dumbledore finally couldn't get anyone to take it?"

"It's a class that we're all taking, though, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "He must have found a teacher. He didn't say anything about it, though. I wonder why."

"Who cares?" Ron demanded, pushing a piece of toast into his mouth. "Just so long as we don't get another Lockhart."

"What about Quirrel?" Harry asked. "He was even worse."

"We don't have it until this afternoon, though," Hermione said, dismayed. She checked her watch, and gasped. "I'm going to be late for Ancient Runes. See you boys in Transfiguration!"

She scurried off. Ron rolled his eyes. "She has fifteen minutes," he said.

Harry shrugged. "You know how she is."

Ron nodded. "You have Care now?" he asked.

"Yeah. You?"

Ron grinned. "I'm off," he said.

"Have fun," Harry told him. He checked his own watch. Ten minutes. He should go a little early, just to say hello to Hagrid. Ron waved him off, still concentrating on his piece of toast.

Harry walked down to Hagrid's hut, happy that this class was first thing in the morning. At least he wouldn't bake during the class. Hagrid was in front of his hut, digging something out of his vegetable patch. He grinned hugely when he saw Harry. "Mornin' Harry," he said cheerfully.

"Hi Hagrid," Harry answered. He stepped carefully over Fang, and said, "What do you have planned for today?"

"Yer gonna love it, Harry! Come an' see!" Hagrid promised. Harry felt his heart begin to sink. That was usually the danger sign. Oddly enough, though, Hagrid didn't lead him into the Forbidden Forest. Instead, he walked with Harry to the other side of his hut. To Harry's intense surprise and amazement, he was proudly shown what looked to be a litter of puppies.

"What are they?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, but unable to believe that Hagrid would choose something truly harmless.

"Crups," Hagrid answered. "I found 'em abandoned in a river, poor things. Dumbledore said that I could keep 'em, and I thought that we'd make a little project out of 'em."

"What do they… erm… do?" Harry asked, unsure how to ask how they could kill people.

"Do?" Hagrid asked, surprised. "They're just like normal dogs, 'cept that they hate muggles. Still," he said, grinning, "shouldn't be a problem if we don't take 'em out o' Hogwarts, right?"

"Right," Harry said.

The rest of the class had assembled, and Harry noted with relief that Malfoy and his entourage were not taking it. Perhaps because of this, Hagrid seemed much more confident, and he introduced the class to the Crups properly and without interruption. Lavender Brown, who was also in the class, though Harry had no idea why, squealed at the sight of them, and asked, "Can we have them?"

The question seemed to please Hagrid, and he grinned widely. "Yep. Looks like yer in luck. There's jus' as many of 'em as of you, so you'll each get ter raise one."

There was a certain amount of squealing from the girls. Harry traded glances with Neville, who shrugged. "Dogs, I can deal with," Neville muttered.

Hagrid explained where he'd found the Crups, then invited them to pick the one they were going to raise. Harry hung back, waiting for the initial rush to finish. When the others had retreated, each clutching a puppy, there was only one left. It was peacefully asleep, but as Harry bent to pick it up, it opened one huge eye and blinked solemnly at him. Harry looked at it, entranced.

He listened carefully as Hagrid taught them how to feed the animals and care for them. When the hour was over, Harry was, for the first time, sad that Care of Magical Creatures was finished. Hagrid seemed to know how he felt, and Harry realized that this was how he felt about all of his pets. All of a sudden, Harry understood his friend a lot better. "Can I come back and see her before Wednesday?" Harry asked.

Hagrid grinned. "Sure thing, Harry. Come back any time you want. She'll be happy to see you." He turned to the rest of the class, who seemed as reluctant to leave their Crups as Harry. "Listen up you lot, I'm gonna give you homework. Here it is: find a name for yer Crup. They respond better to names, and they'll learn who you are if you call 'em somethin' particular." Everyone nodded, and they streamed back up to that castle.

Harry's good mood lasted until he stepped into the Transfiguration classroom. Malfoy was lounging against the wall, looking smug. He was talking to Blaise Zabini, and when he saw Harry, he laughed. "Well, if it isn't the Ministry's pet Posterboy."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, moving over to sit by Ron and Hermione.

As he walked past, he heard Malfoy say, in a voice that was loud enough to make sure that Harry heard, yet soft enough to pretend that Harry hadn't been meant to hear, "You know, I think that Potter feels sorry for that oaf Hagrid. He's probably hoping that he won't end up like him, what with his parents being dead."

Harry didn't even remember moving back to where Malfoy was. All he knew was that that was the last time Malfoy was going to get away with taunting him about his parents.

* * *

Harry advanced on me, his face distorted in a hate-filled snarl. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, and I knew with a sinking feeling that I'd finally gone too far. I should have remembered: he's sensitive about that kind of insult. "Say that to my face, Malfoy," he snarled. The hatred on his face was painful to see, but I knew that I couldn't back down now. My own wand was up and pointed almost before I realized what was happening. The others in the class had pulled the desks out of the way, and they formed a ring around us. I was forcibly reminded of my only other foray into the world of Wizard's duels: the ill-fated dueling club in our second year. Neither of us had really won that duel, and I suspected that today's conflict would amount to the same. We took the position, though neither of us bowed, and we shouted at the same time.

"TARANTEGULLA!"

"IMPEDIMA!"

Our curses hit each other, and exploded in midair. Showers of blue and yellow sparks rained down on the onlookers, who squealed and put up shield charms. Harry hadn't wasted any time, and his stunning spell caught me off guard. I was blasted several feet back, and I was incapacitated for three seconds. They were enough, and I cursed as he stood over me. He looked as though he was going to demand my surrender, but I wasn't giving up that easily. I hissed, "Stupefy!" in my turn, and he was sent back far enough to allow me to scramble to my feet. We faced each other again, wands still pointed.

At that instant, McGonagall walked into the classroom. She took one look at the situation, and her face turned even angrier than Harry's had been. She strode between the two of us, still managing to glare at both of us simultaneously. "Potter! Malfoy!" she shouted. "This is enough! We have all had more than enough with your grudges and they will stop this year! Fifty points from each of you, and both of you will be serving detention in this room every single day –_including_ weekends!– until you can learn to be civil. Do you understand?!"

Harry nodded. I just glared. She turned her stare completely in my direction, and I was forcibly reminded just why she was the deputy headmistress. "Yes, _Professor_," I snarled.

"Good. Now, put this classroom back in order and pay attention to the course, for once!"

I didn't look at Harry as we stalked back to our desks, and he didn't look at me. I was seated just close enough to him and his friends to hear what they said, and I take great pleasure in eavesdropping on their conversations.

"Detention every day with Malfoy?" Weasley asked. "That's harsh, mate! And what about Quidditch?"

"She'll probably set them at a time that doesn't interfere with it. And I'm captain. I can change the time if I need to. The others will understand."

"They'd better," Weasley growled.

"It's not a bad idea," Granger said.

"What," Harry demanded. "The detentions or the Quidditch?"

"The _detentions,_ Harry," she said, in an overly patient tone.

Weasley hissed in anger. "Are you completely _mad_, Hermione?"

Granger looked at him in annoyance. "No, Ronald. I'm trying to think of what's best for all of us. You remember what the hat said, I suppose?"

Weasley shrugged. "The same rubbish it spouted last year, all about us having to be best mates with the Slytherins."

"That's the _point_, Ron," Granger said. "Harry and Malfoy have to learn to get along."

"Like you and Malfoy are such great buddies," Weasley said sarcastically. I had to admit that he had a point.

"Cut it out," Harry said tiredly. I winced inwardly at the tiredness and _dullness_ in his voice. My father had been sent to Azkaban before he could tell me anything about the ministry. Even so, I knew the general gist of the story: Harry and his band of loyal followers had run away from school to the Ministry of Magic. They'd come back injured and Harry had had a look on his face that told of grief unlike any I'd experienced before. I'd ached to take him in my arms and comfort him, to chase that unbearable agony out of his emerald eyes. But I couldn't. I could only stand at the door and taunt him and watch his expression turn from anguish to hatred. I will forever be grateful for Professor Snape at that moment for intervening and saving me from a very nasty curse. I was sure that, in that moment, he would have done anything.

The rest of the conversation was cut short as McGonagall walked towards them. Granger was, as usual, the only one of them who'd even made an effort to practice, and her eyebrows were a very unpleasant shade of yellow. Weasley hadn't even bothered to pick up his wand, though Harry had made a few token attempts. As a result, neither one of his eyebrows were totally yellow, but they were liberally scattered with yellow-ish hairs. McGonagall sniffed, then gave Granger ten points. Weasley was given extra homework, and she didn't even look at Harry. And then, she came to me. I quickly picked up my mirror and pointed my wand at myself. I muttered the incantation, and, thankfully, my eyebrows changed color. My mother had insisted I use that charm in public, as she didn't think I should be seen as myself. As a result, I am quite able to change any part of my hair any color, (apart gold. I've never managed gold, and I have a good idea of why). My eyebrows were now a soft brown, one of the colors my mother had preferred. McGonagall sniffed again, and didn't give me any points. She didn't take any away, either, though, so I suppose it was a success. Next to me, Pansy hadn't managed to change any part of her eyebrows, and she was looking at my brown ones with jealousy. If she didn't ask, I wouldn't tell, though, and so she turned to Blaise with a small sniff of her own.

My thoughts wouldn't settle for the rest of the class. I knew that McGonagall would give us our first detention right after, since both Harry and I had a free period (yes, I memorized his schedule. There's only so many classes he could take, and I pay close attention) right after Transfiguration. As the other students trickled out, Harry and I packed up our things, not looking at each other. Harry was talking with Weasley and Granger. I got the distinct impression that they were telling him to give me hell. Pansy and Blaise walked out together, Pansy glancing back at me with a shrug as she left, and I rolled my eyes.

Finally, the two of us were alone with McGonagall. She beckoned the two of us to her desk, and surveyed us with something that looked suspiciously like resignation. "Need I explain again why you are here?" she asked.

Both of us shook our heads. She nodded. "I am not going to give you anything like a traditional detention," she informed us. "It's obvious that neither of you can be trusted with any kind of object around the other. Therefore, you will simply be together for an hour every day. I don't care what you do, but the room is sealed against any spells that you could possibly think of. The point of the exercise is not to do work for me; it is to learn to tolerate each other. Do I make myself _quite_ clear?"

Both of us nodded, and she pulled out her wand. I thought for a moment that she was going to make us swear some sort of vow that we wouldn't harm each other, but she only reinforced the wards on the classrooms. I don't know why I was surprised at that. I mean, there's some pretty spectacularly uncontrolled magic bouncing around here sometimes. (Longbottom's spectacular destruction of McGonagall's desk comes to mind: that one has made Slytherin history). I suppose it's just that I've never had any opportunity to see such a hell of a lot of uncontrolled magic that the wards were necessary.

Once she'd completed the wards, McGonagall left us alone. I was surprised that she didn't disarm us, but I suppose she trusted in her wards. I knew better. My father's favorite way of confining me as a child was to ward the house. I learned to break his wards by the time I was twelve. He, of course, has no idea of that, and I intend for it to stay that way.

I pulled out my wand and cast an experimental spell. As she'd promised, nothing happened. I cursed vehemently under my breath and dug into my bag. Harry was doing his best to ignore me, but finally he couldn't resist. "I suppose you're not planning on telling me what you're doing," he said, but it was almost a question.

I considered my responses: Harry expected me to refuse, so he'd have another cause to be angry at me. A slight grin played over my face as I contemplated the other solution: I could tell him. Nastily, of course, as we must keep up appearances even with the ones we love (especially when they don't love us back), but tell him all the same. And so, adopting my favorite imitation of Professor Snape, I told him, "I'm breaking the ward."

He looked at me with scorn. "Do you _really_ think that you can do that? McGonagall cast the spell herself."

I shrugged. I was sure that I would succeed, and I didn't feel the need to respond. Finally, my hand closed on the object that I'd been searching for: the receptacle that I'd purchased in Nocturne Alley. I placed the tip of my wand on the flat surface of the object and grinned. Not even McGonagall's wards could stand against the power stored in the receptacle: it wasn't an actual spell, so it didn't trigger them.

"I'm going to drain the power out of your wand," I informed Harry.

He gripped the object in question possessively. "No you're not," he told me firmly.

"Do you want to get out of the wards or not?" I demanded.

"This was your idea," he reminded me.

I sighed. He wasn't going to give in, but it didn't matter. I tapped the object with my wand again and felt the familiar draining of power out of my wand, and obviously Harry felt it too. He gripped it even harder, and glared at me murderously. I shrugged. He'd get his magic back eventually, but not until he asked for it. I wondered how long it'd be. I felt the draining of the wards as well, and grinned. I waited until I though McGonagall's extra spell had been broken, then removed my wand from the receptacle. There was a bit of power left in it, and I sighed. I was going to have to get the power back soon. I closed my eyes, and concentrated. When I opened them again, I could see the wards that she'd cast. The vision-altering spell was one of my prime achievements, and I wondered if I was the first to invent it. If I was, that would be both amazing and scary.

McGonagall's normal wards were the same as my father's. I searched for the center, then aimed a curse directly at it. My aim was good, and the curse hit the weak spot. The ward shattered, and I grinned in triumph. I looked at Harry, who was glaring at me. I shrugged nastily, then gathered the power that the receptacle had drained from my wand. I felt the nagging anxiety that being powerless had caused lift, and I leaned back in my seat. I thought about dropping the receptacle back into my bag, but decided to leave it out as temptation.

He glared at me for the next five minutes, then demanded, "Are you going to give me my magic back, or will I have to take it from you?"

I shrugged. "If you can get it, Potter, be my guest." I tossed him the black object, and he caught it deftly, like the born Seeker that he is. I could see him remembering just how I'd done it, and he put his wand on the receptacle. His eyes widened as more power drained out. All the newly replenished magic in my wand streamed out, as did what remained of McGonagall's wards. I wondered what it would do now that there was no power here to drain out. And then I felt it. A horrible, pulling feeling in my chest. My own eyes widened as I realized what was happening. "Turn it loose!" I shouted at him. "Do it before you kill all of us!"

He looked at me in confusion, and I grabbed the thing from him, wrenching his wand off it. Instantly, the pulling stopped, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. As my breathing calmed, I looked at him murderously. He'd almost killed every wizard in the vicinity! Hadn't he realized what he was doing?! I ignored the voice in my head that told me that it was my fault for not telling him what to do, and concentrated on being furious. When I could finally talk, I said, "You _idiot_! Don't you know what you just did?!"

He was angry as well, and I could see that he was as scared as I was trying not to be. "How the hell should I know what to do, Malfoy? You didn't even tell me what that stupid thing is!"

"It's obvious what it is!" I shouted back. I thanked the four founders for the thickness of the walls at Hogwarts. Even without the wards, I doubted that anyone could hear us. "It leeches power from anything around it when it's in contact with a magical object! Why didn't you let it go?"

He didn't answer me, and I glared some more. I hated being without magic, and I put my wand very carefully above the receptacle. I felt the power return to the wand as the receptacle strained to drain the strength from the piece of wood. When my wand was at full power again, I put it away. I held out my hand for Harry's wand. He held onto it tightly.

"I'm doing you a favor, Potter," I spat. "I should just let you stay like you are, virtually a squib until you get a new wand. It's no more than you deserve. But I'm doing you a favor and giving you back your power. Your choice."

Very reluctantly, he surrendered his wand. I held it over the receptacle as well, marveling at how much power it could hold. When his wand was finally fully charged, I tossed it back to him and put the receptacle carefully away. Then I concentrated on the wards. McGonagall would know that we'd tampered with them, but I hoped that I could disguise just how much. Wards are hard to fully replace, and she would be livid if she found out that we'd erased hers down to the very foundations.

I'm much better at breaking wards than I am at creating them, though, and I didn't have much success. After twenty minutes of carefully disguising all of Harry's stupidity, I admitted to myself that I couldn't actually replace the wards. I growled softly to myself, and then allowed myself a quick glance over at Harry. He was scribbling something on a piece of paper and not paying any attention to me. I shrugged, and reached down into my bag again. I drew out a thin book and opened it, carefully shielding the title and cover from his view.

When the detention was over, McGonagall arrived to set us free. I could see her frown when she stepped into classroom, and steeled myself for the explosion. She advanced on us. "What has happened in this room?" she demanded harshly.

Harry and I exchanged a look, and I realized that neither of us was willing to take the blame. How very typical. She was glaring at the two of us, and when she didn't receive an answer, she turned on Harry. "Mr. Potter, tell me what happened!"

"It was Malfoy," he said sullenly. "He did something to the wards and drained all the magic out."

I couldn't stay quiet in the face of this outrageous accusation. "_I_ drained all the magic out?!" I exclaimed. "Who was it who wouldn't cut the spell loose? I, unlike you Potter, know how to control what I start!"

McGonagall cut us off with a very cold look. "This will not happen again, do you understand?" she said icily. Both of us stared at her. "Do you understand?" she asked again, and there was a thread of danger in her words. We nodded, though I had no sincerity in my nod at all. "Fifty point from both of you, and you will each write a three foot essay on the dangers of fooling around with magic that you do not understand, to be handed in at the beginning of this hour tomorrow." We both avoided her gaze, and gathered up our things. Just as I was about to leave, she stopped me. I could see Harry slow down, probably hoping to hear me get into more trouble. "Mr. Malfoy, was it you who cloaked the damage?"

I nodded, wary.

"Five points to Slytherin for a good illusion. I shall tell Professor Flitwick that your skills in this area have substantially increased. However, I do not expect this event to happen again, do you understand?"

I nodded again, relieved. I left as fast as I could, before she could think of something else to yell at me about.

* * *

Ron was waiting for Harry to come out of detention so that they could go to Defense together. Seeing who Harry had just had detention with, Ron wasn't surprised to see a dark expression on his friend's face. He wasn't prepared for the story of what had happened, though, and he could hardly contain his fury by the end. "And he blamed _you_?" Ron spluttered. "After it was _his_ thing that did it in the first place?"

Harry nodded. "And then," he said, and Ron realized that it was about to get worse. "_Then_ she gave Malfoy five points."

Ron stared at him. "_What?!_" he managed finally.

"She did," Harry said. "For 'a good illusion,' she said. He was trying to put the wards back up. The wards that _he_ drained in the first place."

Ron shared his dirty look in sympathy. "What do you want me to do to get back at him?" he asked.

Harry's expression briefly turned calculating, but he shook his head with a sigh. "That'll just get us into more trouble. It's not worth it."

"Shame," Ron said with feeling. They turned into the Defense classroom, and then stopped. The tall thin figure of Professor Dumbledore was behind the desk, and he was the only adult in the room.

Ron looked around for Hermione, and waved her over. "What's he doing here?" he asked, nodding to Dumbledore.

Hermione looked at him in exasperation. "What do you _think_ he's doing here?" she demanded. "He's the new teacher."

Harry blinked, and Ron could see that he was trying to pull himself out of his dark mood. "I didn't think that he was allowed to teach."

"It's not common," Hermione admitted. "But _Hogwarts, a History_ says that it's happened at least twice before. Both times, there was absolutely no one else who was willing to take the job, and so the Headmaster stepped in."

"Congratulations, Miss Granger." All three of them started, and turned to see Dumbledore himself smiling behind them. "Fifteen points to Gryffindor. Do take a seat. Class is about to start."

The three of them slipped into seats in the front. "Fifteen points?" Hermione asked, amazed. "That's more than remembering what I read deserves."

"He's probably trying to make up for the number of points McGonagall took away from me earlier," Harry answered. Hermione looked confused, and Harry recounted the story again. When he was done, she looked as horrified as Ron had.

"That's not fair!" she said.

"Tell me about it," Harry grimaced.

They couldn't talk anymore, because at that moment, Dumbledore called the class to order.

"As all of you know, I'm sure, we have had a small problem in the past few years finding teachers to take this post. Because no one was… eager to become your teacher this year, I have stepped in to fill the post." He waited for the buzz of conversation to die down, then continued. "Now, as I'm sure all of you have been told many times, your education in this subject has been haphazard and unorganized. I see no reason to change that, and so I will simply be teaching you the skills that you need to know to stay alive." His face was serious, and Ron realized that Dumbledore never lost an opportunity to lecture people. "I know that you have been told that Lord Voldemort is dead, but I assure you, he is not. In this course, I will teach you all I can to ensure that you survive long enough to make a life for yourselves. Defense is not a laughing matter, and you should all be taking it extremely seriously. Do I make myself clear?"

Everyone nodded, and he smiled, lightening the atmosphere considerably. "Excellent. Now, because of the scattered nature of all of your various educations in Defense, I'm afraid that I don't have a clear picture of each of your abilities. Therefore, before we do any actual learning, you will take a sort of practical exam." He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable groans. "These marks will not be counted, I promise. This is for my benefit alone. Now, please get into small groups."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved together, and pulled out their wands. As Dumbledore asked for each spell and charm to be preformed, he walked around through the groups, correcting, suggesting, and making notes. He didn't say anything to Ron, Harry, and Hermione except for, "Excellent work." Ron supposed that that was a good thing.

When they left the classroom, everyone was chatting excitedly. "Finally!" Hermione said, pulling out her timetable to check her next class. "Another teacher who knows what he's doing."

Harry nodded. "I think we might actually learn something this year," he said.

Ron grinned. "Not sure if that's a good thing or not," he said, ignoring Hermione's dirty look. "But at least he won't make us copy out of textbooks."

* * *

That night, Dumbledore asked Harry to come to his office. Ron looked questioningly at Harry. "What do you think he wants?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know."

"You'll tell us when you come back?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded and stood. He made his way down the deserted hallways, stopping in front of the gargoyle. He scanned Dumbledore's note, then said, "Saltwater toffee." The gargoyle turned slowly, and Harry stepped through onto the moving staircase. A moment later, he stepped off and knocked on Dumbledore's door.

"Enter."

Harry pushed the door open, and walked into the room. Dumbledore nodded benignly at him and gestured to a chair. Harry sat, and looked straight at Dumbledore, wondering what the Headmaster wanted.

"I was quite pleased with the progress of many of the students in your class. May I assume that this was due to your coaching of them last year?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe." He wondered again just what it was that Dumbledore wanted. That comment had said nothing at all. Was he going to condemn Harry for taking matters into his own hands? But he'd said that he was pleased with their progress!

"I'm not going to lecture you, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, apparently reading Harry's thoughts yet again. "I'm simply curious. Mr. Longbottom, for instance, seems to have made substantial improvements."

Harry sighed. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I guess I helped them a bit. Neville's not that bad, though. All he needs is a bit of confidence in himself, and he can do amazing things."

Dumbledore was looking at him with brightly interested eyes, and Harry knew instantly that he wouldn't like what the Headmaster was about to say.

"I am sure that I do not have to tell _you_ about the importance of Defense, do I?"

Harry shook his head.

"Tell me, did you have any plans to resume the group this term?"

"No!"

Dumbledore raised his white eyebrows. "Why not?"

Harry sighed, wondering how to make Dumbledore understand. "Well, we started it mostly to get even at Umbridge. Now that she's gone, there's really no need to keep doing it."

"Don't you think that it would be beneficial to the students to continue learning from you?"

"No."

"Please explain yourself."

Harry sighed again. "Professor, I managed to help them learn, but I really have no idea how to teach."

"The best teachers do not know how they teach, Harry."

"Well, I'm not one of them," he said defiantly. "I don't want to be."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." He didn't want to be responsible for other people anymore. When he made mistakes, it was easiest if they just affected him. He'd learned in June all about how devastating it could be to let other people follow him, and he was determined not to make the same mistake next time.

"They're your friends, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "You have to learn to trust them."

"I do," Harry said, not even bothering to wonder at Dumbledore's mind reading tricks.

"Then why do you insist on shutting out everyone who wants to help you?"

Harry felt himself getting angry again. "I'm the one who has to fight Voldemort, aren't I? You aren't all going to be behind me, telling me what to do!"

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "Harry, believe me. I know how you are feeling."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Do you? You said that last June."

"I know."

"Then why haven't you stopped insisting?"

"Because I'm right. Harry, have you ever heard of Grindewald?"

"Of course." Who hadn't? He'd been the evil overlord before Voldemort, and he'd been defeated by Dumbledore. "Is this relevant?"

"Yes. Harry, I fought Grindewald because I had to. But I did not want to do it. I wanted to stay back and let other people do it for me." Harry started to protest the comparison, but Dumbledore shook his head. "Please hear me through. I was eventually forced to confront him, and I won. But it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But with you, the situation is reversed. You are not inexperienced, as I was. You have fought Voldemort on several occasions, and you believe that you can defeat him."

"I have to," Harry said bluntly. "There's no one else."

Dumbledore sighed. "But perhaps there is."

"Who?"

"Mr. and Miss Weasley. Miss Granger. Perhaps even Mr. Malfoy, if you will allow him to help you."

Harry snorted. "_Malfoy_?!" he demanded scornfully. "He's probably already got a Dark Mark on his arm."

"I think you are wronging Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said gently.

"I don't."

"You are, of course, entitled to your own opinion. But allow me to give you this word of caution: don't take too much on yourself. You are still growing, both physically and mentally. Voldemort has been studying for over twenty years, and you have only been training for five. If you do not allow yourself to accept help, then you have far less of a chance against him."

"I will defeat him, Professor," Harry said icily. "May I leave now?"

"You are determined not to continue with the Defense group?"

"I am."

"Then I cannot stop you. Good day, Harry."

Harry gathered up his things and strode through the door. He rode the stairs back down in silence, wondering just how long it would be until he could scream. The hallways were still deserted, and Harry started to walk to the Gryffindor common room. Then, he changed his mind and headed towards the Room of Requirement. If he wanted a place to shout, then that was the one.

He passed through the concealed entrance and found himself in a room full of shelves of empty glass bottles. A blank wall was facing him, and he guessed immediately what the Room had in mind. He dropped his things on the ground, and strode into the middle of the room. He threw back his head and roared his frustration. Without quieting, he grabbed one of the bottles and threw them at the wall. It shattered, and he decided that he quite liked doing that. He grabbed another and hurled it at the same spot.

He didn't know how long he spent throwing bottles at the wall and screaming. His voice was dying when he finally calmed down enough to be able to contemplate leaving the room. He glanced at the shelves, bare but for one remaining bottle. He shrugged, picked it up, weighed it in his palm, and flicked his wrist. The bottle flew in an arc above his head and smashed into a million pieces onto the floor. His shoulder ached from throwing so many bottles, and his throat was in agony from screaming, but he felt better. He supposed that it was better than destroying half of Dumbledore's office.

* * *

Hermione was getting worried. Harry hadn't come back yet, and that was almost certainly a bad sign. She tried to read, but she couldn't concentrate enough to take in any of the words on the page. She put it back down, sighed, and got up. She started to pace around the common room, but almost tripped three times before she'd completed the first circuit. With a slight groan, she gave that up as well, and wondered what in the _hell_ to do until he came back.

A glance across the room made it clear that Ron was feeling the same way, and she shrugged. Making up her mind suddenly, she walked carefully over to the boy's dormitory and began to climb the stairs. Soon, she heard that Ron had joined her, but she didn't acknowledge him. They walked in silence until they reached Ron's dormitory, and passed through the door into the deserted room. Ron made a beeline for Harry's bed, and shoved a practiced hand under his friend's pillow. A moment later, he came out with the blank piece of parchment that was the Marauder's Map. Hermione bent over it as Ron activated it. Together, they scanned the map eagerly for the dot that was their friend, but he was undetectable.

"You don't think he left the grounds, do you?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Ron shrugged. "I hope not. Maybe he's in the Room of Requirement. It doesn't show up on the map, you know."

"But why would he go there?"

Ron shrugged again. "Maybe he'll tell us when he gets back," he suggested practically.

"Maybe. But if he's angry enough to run off, then he might not tell us anything at all," Hermione pointed out.

Ron sighed. "True."

They sat in silence for a long moment, watching the movement of the student body. Suddenly, Hermione said, "There!"

Ron peered at the dot that she was indicating, and nodded. "Told you," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "All right. You win."

"Of course I do," Ron agreed.

She grimaced. "You are such a _boy_, Ron."

He frowned. "This is a bad thing?"

She didn't answer.

They tracked Harry's dot up to Gryffindor Tower and through the common room. Just before he stepped into the dormitory, Ron closed the map and shoved it back under Harry's pillow. The ease with which he accomplished the timing of this made Hermione suspect that this was not the first time that he'd used the map to check on Harry. Just as Ron was pulling his hand back into his lap, Harry himself walked into the room. He was walking normally, and, looking closely at him, Hermione wondered just what he'd been doing. Judging from the amount of time that he'd been gone, she'd been expecting him to come raging and storming through the room, completely ignoring both of them. Instead, he looked at the two of them on Ron's bed, and dropped onto his own. He didn't say anything, but he didn't draw the curtains as well. Hermione supposed that that could be seen as an invitation to question him.

Sure enough, Ron asked, "What was _that_ all about?"

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore wanted me to start the DA up again." His voice was hoarse, and he talked so quietly that Hermione could hardly hear him.

"Harry, what have you been doing?" she asked, frowning.

"Screaming," he answered matter-of-factly.

"At him?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to, but I didn't."

"What did he say?"

"Told you. He wanted me to start the DA again."

"But… you won't do it?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

Harry started to look angry. "Because."

Hermione sighed in irritation. "Harry, I would like a proper answer, if you please."

He glared at her. "Because I have no desire to teach anyone again," he said. "Is that better?"

Ron shot Hermione a warning glance. "It would be good for us, though," he pointed out.

"We have a more than competent Defense teacher this year. I don't need to fool around with other people anymore."

Hermione completely ignored Ron's warning glances. "Harry, you weren't fooling around! We were teaching them how to make sure they stay alive!"

"And now Dumbledore's doing that," Harry told her.

"But Dumbledore's not you!" Ron burst out. It was Hermione's turn to glare meaningfully at him.

"Exactly," Harry shot back. "Dumbledore knows what he's doing! Just let it go, all right? I'm not teaching Defense again, and that's all!"

Hermione sighed. Whatever he'd been doing in the Room obviously hadn't bled out all of his anger. She stood and nodded to them both. "If you're sure," she said.

"I am."

"Then I have studying to do."

"_Already_?!" Ron demanded, incredulous. "Hermione, we've only been in class for one _day_!"

"And? I still have catching up to do! I didn't get nearly as much studying done as I'd hoped this summer."

Ron rolled his eyes, but Hermione didn't wait to hear what he answered. She walked out of the room and down the stairs, heading back to the common room so as to head into the girl's dormitory. Lavender and Parvati were already there, but they were curled up on Parvati's bed, discussing something under cover of a silencing charm. Hermione ignored them and dropped onto her own bed, pulling a book out of her trunk and beginning to read.


	6. 3: Change of heart 1

Note: Once again, we apologize for the delay. We don't even have a good excuse for this one. sigh. We are very truly sorry and we hope you like it anyway!  
--kyra

* * *

3: change of heart

Life continued as normally as was possible at Hogwarts. Harry continued to go to class, and his scar seemed to be cooperating. He wasn't having nightmares, and he held out a faint hope that he'd finally conquered them. It might have been the stress of NEWT level classes, or it might be that his brain had realized that he wasn't going to feel guilty anymore, but he stopped being tortured at nights by his subconscious, and he was grateful. He was succeeding in every single class, and, to his surprise, Care of Magical Creatures quickly became his favorite. Every other year, he'd taken the class out of a duty of friendship to Hagrid, and he'd expected to feel the same this year. But, without Malfoy and with the Crups, the first class of most days was the most enjoyable. He and his Crup (a female that he'd named Serenity, after a vaguely remembered muggle television program) got along famously, and he loved teaching her things. He'd never had a pet of his own, and he was amazed at how well he took to the responsibility. Hagrid too was pleased, and he speculated loudly that he "might make a decent successor out of you yet, Harry!" Harry always grinned when Hagrid said that, but he knew that he would never succeed Hagrid as gamekeeper and Care teacher. He already knew his temperament wasn't suited to explaining things over and over in many different ways, and he knew that if he became a teacher, he would be an exceedingly bad one. That wasn't something he was willing to do, having suffered through enough bad teachers over the years. No one mentioned the DA to him again, and he almost forgot his fury at Dumbledore.

Belle had written back a couple weeks into the year. Her letter was brief and to the point.

_Harry.__  
Leave it alone: I'm not going to tell you.  
Belle_

He rolled his eyes as he read it, but eventually decided that it wasn't worth pursuing. He saw more than enough of Malfoy these days, after all, and eventually he would find out what the Slytherin had been talking to Belle about. Of course, that involved actually _talking_ to Malfoy, which was something Harry wasn't too keen on doing at the moment. After their disastrous first session, neither one of them had been willing to speak to the other. Harry was furious at Malfoy for setting him up like that, and Harry supposed that Malfoy was furious at him for getting caught. It wasn't like it was Harry's fault, but Malfoy would always think like that.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He couldn't show up for potions in such a bad mood, or Snape's teaching would affect him even more. He'd managed to overlook Snape's bad attitude so far, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before something happened to make him crack.

He looked around the hallway, searching for Hermione. She was the only other Gryffindor who'd managed to scrape an O in potions, and they worked together. She was nowhere in sight today, though, and he sat down in his seat with a sigh. She would get here – Hermione was far too obsessive a student to skip class – but if she was working on something special in Arithmancy, she wouldn't arrive until the very last minute. Sure enough, she dashed into the classroom just before Snape arrived, gasping for breath. Snape glared fiercely at her, but refrained from saying anything. Hermione grinned apologetically at Harry, catching her breath while Snape snapped out the directions for that day's class. Soon, the room was full of the sound of softly bubbling cauldrons and the scraping noises of silver knives. Harry and Hermione worked efficiently, combining her precision and meticulous methods with his (as yet untapped) potions talent. Snape glowered horribly at them, but he couldn't find any mistake in their work, and grudgingly moved on.

They didn't talk much, each concentrating on not doing anything wrong. Harry had suffered too many Ds last year to allow his thoughts to wander now, especially because Hermione's grade also depended on his skill. She would not like it at all if he made them fail, and she would get her revenge by forcing him to study with her, or testing him on every single one of their subjects for hours. He preferred to do the work properly.

When the hour was finally over, they gathered their things and walked into the hallway. Hermione seemed to linger slightly, but when Harry turned to look for her, she was next to him. He shrugged inwardly, and followed her up the stairs to the Transfiguration classroom. Ron, who had an off period, met them at the door, and the three of them walked into the classroom together.

They had advanced from changing the color of their hair to changing the color of their eyes, and, though neither Harry nor Ron had mastered it yet, both of them ended up with eyes shot with brown. Hermione burst out laughing when she saw them, and Harry had to admit that they did look rather ridiculous. Hermione herself had transfigured her eyes a soft shade of gray, startlingly like Malfoy's. Ron had noticed as well, and he scowled every time he looked at her. Finally, she picked up her wand and flicked it delicately. Her eyes went from gray to black, and she looked irritably at Ron. "Is that better?" she snapped.

Ron shrugged. "No," he said frankly. "You look like Snape now."

Hermione snorted slightly. "No, Ron, I look nothing like Snape, I promise you." She frowned at her reflection, then a slightly wicked grin began to play around her mouth. She picked up her wand again, and flicked it, changing her hair color from its usual light brown to jet black. It was the same bushy mane that she'd always had, but even so, the resemblance was scary.

Ron shuddered. "She looks creepy, doesn't she?" he complained.

"Exceedingly," he agreed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but obligingly returned her hair to its normal color. She left her eyes the same, though, and Harry couldn't help thinking that she was teasing them.

Professor McGonagall came by and looked at the three of them carefully. She raised her eyebrows at Hermione's choice of eye color, but awarded her five points anyway. Harry and Ron received no points, but she didn't take any either, so they weren't worse than anyone else in the class. Harry couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief when she moved away. He hadn't quite forgiven her for taking away all the points after the first detention, and he knew that she was probably still mad at him for what she thought he'd done. Ron glared at her retreating figure, which Harry took to mean that he too was angry with McGonagall.

Finally, the class was over, and the students streamed out. Ron lingered to tell Harry, "Wipe that smirk off his face, will you? It's making me sick!"

Harry sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. Ron grinned at him, and left the room. Altogether too soon for Harry's tastes, he was once more alone with Malfoy. They glared fiercely at each other as McGonagall's green robes swished out of the room, locking the door as she left. She hadn't renewed the anti-magic wards, but they knew that the moment they tried to use magic, she would pounce. Harry, at least, wasn't willing to risk it yet.

Malfoy put his book down after a moment, and surveyed Harry intently. Harry tried to ignore it, but the other boy's scrutiny proved to be too much. He rounded on Malfoy, glaring darkly. "Is there something wrong with me?" he spat. "Can you do anything other than glare at me?"

Malfoy sighed. "Why do you always think it's all about you, Potter? If you must know, I was watching your owl."

Harry started, and turned to look out the window. Sure enough, Hedwig was sitting at the window, looking at him reproachfully. Harry stood and moved quickly to let her in. She glared at him, creating a sudden eerie resemblance to Malfoy himself. She held out her foot stiffly, and he slipped the note off. She flew off in a huff, and he returned slowly to his seat.

The note was brief, but it numbed Harry to the bone.

_Dear Harry,  
__You may not appreciate my writing this to you, but it needs to be said. As I'm sure you are aware, Sirius left all of his worldly possessions to you when he died. That includes both the house and, I'm afraid to say, Kreacher. The other items (a moderate amount of gold and a few valuable trinkets) have been transferred to your vault at Gringotts. There are a few other matters to settle, so I would appreciate a prompt response.__  
Yours,  
__R. Lupin  
P.S. Are you going to Grimmauld Place for Christmas? He would have wanted you to._

Harry looked blankly at the letter for a moment, then began to rip it up. He didn't stop until it had been reduced to a pile of shreds, and even then, he didn't feel calm. Hanging the consequences, he yanked his wand out of his pocket and blasted it out of existence. He watched the ashes disperse in the slight breeze coming through the window, and tried to force himself to calm down. He was being irrational. He'd known that it had to happen, of course. But seeing Lupin's neat handwriting on the page, reading the words _when he died_ had completely unnerved him. The ink made it real, as though, before he'd read the small black letters, he could have denied it. Only the vague awareness of the company he was in stopped him from bursting into desperate tears on the spot.

Malfoy was watching him with a detached expression, and this infuriated Harry beyond reason. His emotions were heightened by grief, and the sight of Malfoy just sitting there brought him over the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Harry screamed, his face contorting with rage.

Malfoy seemed a bit taken aback by his tone, but replied in kind, though at a lower volume. "If you recall, Potter, I'm in detention with you."

"Well get out! You have no right to be here right now! I'll take the damned points from Gryffindor, all of them! Just get the _hell_ out of this room!"

"The door's locked, Potter," Malfoy stated flatly. His calm, controlled voice made Harry even angrier, and he rounded on the other boy, his wand raised.

"Do you even know what it's like?" he shouted. "To have someone you love taken away from you? Do you even respect the grief that I feel? Or do you not care? Are you just the hard _rock_ that you pretend so hard to be? Have you ever loved someone so much that you would die to protect them? Well, _have you_? Because I have. I do. And he's gone. Can you understand that, Malfoy? The only one who loved me, the only one who knows who I really am, _he's dead! _He's dead and he's never coming back. Do you even realize how that makes me feel? No, you don't. Because you're a heartless basted, Draco Malfoy. You only care about yourself, and no one else, and you can't imagine what it's like to live differently. Well I can. I've never been loved by anyone else, Malfoy, and now that he's dead, I'll never be loved by anyone. So just get the _fuck_ out of this room and out of my life!"

Malfoy looked at him, and his expression was hard with cold fury. "Let me tell you something, Potter," he snarled. "You think _you_ have it bad, do you? At least you had _someone_! Do _you_ have any idea what it's like to be a Malfoy? No, you don't. You probably think that it's like being some Prince, don't you? Well let me set you straight! My parents have high expectations of me. They want me to be the best at everything. Do you know how hard it is for me to live up to that? They want me to wipe you off the Earth, Potter, and I've failed. Do you know how that makes me feel? I have your guts, Potter, and I'm not going to listen to you feeling sorry for yourself!"

"Feeling _sorry for myself?_" Harry roared. "You think I'm feeling _sorry for myself_?"

"Yes I bloody well do!" Malfoy screamed back. "You're Potter the Ministry Posterboy, the one everyone loves! People swoon over your every move. Do you know how many articles there are about you? No? Well maybe you should bloody pay attention! People far and wide know your face. They know who you are, and they love you! Maybe you could show them a little respect, and stop your 'feel so sorry for myself, my parents are dead' act! In case you'd forgotten, you're supposed to be fighting a war!"

Harry was about to cast a very painful curse when the door to the classroom burst open. McGonagall strode in, eyes snapping with a fury equal to Harry's own.

"_Put that_ _**away**_!" she shouted at him. His arm moved with its own mind, and his wand was sheathed before he realized what he was doing. "Both of you, seventy points from each of your houses! Mr. Malfoy, Professor Snape will have a word with you. Mr. Potter, come with me!"

Harry followed her out of the room, still shaking with rage. She blew her door open and blasted it shut again, giving Harry a good idea of just how much trouble he was in. He wondered what she had in store for him. He didn't have to wait long. She rounded on him soon, her face still furious. "What in Merlin's name possessed you, boy?" she demanded.

"I hate him," Harry told her, too angry to be afraid. "He's an insufferable git."

"_That is no excuse_!" she blazed. "Just because you and Mr. Malfoy do not get along _does not_ mean that you have an excuse to act like a child!"

"You think I'm acting like a _child_?" Harry bellowed, his slight control gone once more.

"Control yourself, Mr. Potter," she snapped. "Yes, both of you are acting like spoiled children! We have all had _enough_!"

"What are you going to do about it?" Harry demanded.

"I am going to talk the matter over with the Headmaster," she answered firmly. "_You_ are going to stay in this room until we have come to a decision. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

He nodded stiffly. She eyed him closely for a moment, then added, in a slightly gentler tone, "If you choose to destroy any of my possessions, Mr. Potter, I would ask you not to harm the vase in the corner. It's an antique."

* * *

Minerva had no idea what to do. She'd thought that putting the boys in detention together was a good idea, but apparently it had only made things worse. She hoped desperately that Albus could make sense of the situation. He knew both boys better than she did, and he understood, Mr. Potter, something Minerva had never quite managed to do. She threw a pinch of floo powder onto the fire, and called sharply, "Albus?" Through the door, she heard the sound of a blasting spell, and the crunch of something delicate being smashed. She hoped that he would take her words about the Ming seriously.

"Minerva." Albus appeared in her line of sight. "What can I do for you?"

For answer, she shifted a little, allowing him to hear the sounds of another item crumbling into a million pieces. It sounded like a book. Appropriate, she though, with a grim inner smile.

"Ah," Albus said. "I'd better come through, hadn't I?"

"That would be a good plan," Minerva agreed. She pulled her head out of the fire, waiting. Moments later, the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared in her inner study.

"What caused this latest outbreak?" he queried mildly, listening to Mr. Potter blast his way through Minerva's library. She hoped that she would be able to repair them tonight. Some of those were generations old.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "My wards were triggered for magic, and I came to investigate. I found the two of them at each other's throats, Mr. Potter apparently ready to blast Mr. Malfoy off the face of the Earth. Again."

Albus sighed, and twined his fingers into his beard. He looked remarkably old for a moment, and Minerva was struck by an unpleasant thought: Albus wouldn't always be here. Soon, she would have to make decisions like this herself. The thought was not a pleasant one, and she tried to get it out of her head.

"What do you suggest?" she asked him, hoping for a magic formula. Just this once, let there be an easy solution!

Unfortunately, Minerva was clever enough to realize that there is no such thing as an easy solution, and it was with little surprise that she heard Albus say, "No, Minerva."

Both of them sighed simultaneously, and then exchanged rueful glances. Together, they walked into the other room. Minerva was a little shocked at the extent of the destruction. Mr. Potter had apparently taken her advice to heart. He was in the process of dismembering a particularly ugly potted plant when the two entered. He stopped when he saw them, but didn't look remotely sorry. Albus sighed again. "I suggest you take a seat," he told Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter sat gingerly as close to the door as possible. Minerva took the chair behind the remains of her desk, and Albus lowered himself with a nearly inaudible sigh into her good leather chair, which was, remarkably, still intact.

"Now, Harry," Albus said gently. "Suppose you tell us what brought this about."

Mr. Potter shortly recounted the contents of the letter that he'd received. Minerva listed in detached silence, wondering if Mr. Potter realized just how powerful he was when he got angry. She could feel his fury, only slightly contained, radiating off him in waves, and knew that it would take very little to set him off. They would have to tread extremely carefully.

"And what did Mr. Malfoy do?" Albus asked.

Mr. Potter opened his mouth, the closed it. "Nothing, I guess," he said finally. "I just… needed somebody to yell at."

"And Mr. Malfoy seemed to be the best target."

Mr. Potter nodded. He didn't look ashamed, only slightly disgruntled. "Yeah," he agreed.

Albus sighed again, and seemed to shrink very slightly. "Harry," he said sadly. "I must say that I expected better from you."

"Why, because I'm the hero of Gryffindor?" Mr. Potter began, and Minerva could tell that he was working into a well-rehearsed rant.

Albus, also recognizing the signs, skillfully intervened. "I expected better because you're better than that, Harry."

Mr. Potter laughed shortly. "You're sure?" he asked. "I certainly haven't acted like it."

"You are mistaken," Albus told him. "You conduct yourself with honor and kindness. Usually. Outbursts like this one do not become you, I'm afraid to say."

"I don't care," Mr. Potter said rebelliously.

"Stop it!" Minerva intervened. She was tired of his attitude, tired of his airs and grand mood swings. "You are almost an adult, Mr. Potter. I would suggest that you act like one!"

Mr. Potter glared ferociously at her and stood up to storm out of the room. Albus shook his head warningly at Minerva. "Sit down, Harry. We aren't finished with this conversation."

The boy sat reluctantly, still glowering at both adults. "You do understand that there is going to be a punishment for this, don't you Harry?" Albus asked.

Mr. Potter nodded stiffly.

"Obviously, putting you in detention will not do the trick. Professor McGonagall has taken more than enough points away, so that is out as well. Therefore, I am making an executive decision and placing you on Academic Probation for the next month."

Mr. Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Albus ignored him. "This means, Potter, that you are not allowed out of the castle, except for Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology, without an escort. An _adult_ escort. That means a teacher, not Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley. To ensure that you keep to this ban, I'm afraid that I will have to insist that you hand in your map and cloak until the end of the probation."

"No." The word was curt and final. Minerva could see that Albus was trying his hardest not to get truly angry. There had been enough anger today.

"Harry, do not make me take them from you."

"No."

"Yes, Harry. If you persist in being stubborn, I _will_ remove them from your belongings. Let us do this in a civilized manner and simply get them for me."

Mr. Potter looked about to refuse again, but the steely look in Albus' eyes changed his mind. "How am I supposed to get them, Professor?"

"You have a fireplace in your dormitory, I assume," Albus said mildly, though Minerva knew that he was well aware of its existence. Mr. Potter nodded again. "Minerva, would you be so kind as to lend Mr. Potter some of your floo powder?" Albus asked. "Enough for two trips, please."

Minerva gestured to her box of floo powder. "Help yourself," she said. Albus stood and looked at Mr. Potter.

"Shall we go?"

Mr. Potter glared fiercely, but nodded yet again. Albus helped himself to a pinch of powder, and slipped another into a small box, which he deposited in his pocket. "After you," he said pleasantly. Mr. Potter stepped through the fire, Albus following a moment after. Minerva waited for several long nervous moments before the green roar of the fire announced that Albus was returning.

She stood and reached into a hidden cupboard, coming out with a bottle of Firewhiskey. She poured out two generous glasses, and pushed one across the desk to Albus. He accepted with a grateful nod, and they drank in silence. Finally, she asked, "How did it go?"

Albus put his glass down with a sigh. "Much as it did here," he admitted. "I had hoped that he would come around, but apparently I was mistaken."

"What are we going to do?" she asked, hoping that he would have an answer.

"Let them work it out for themselves," Albus replied tiredly.

Minerva frowned. "Albus, you've been saying that for the last five years. Isn't it obvious that it's not going to happen?"

"It has to, Minerva," Albus told her simply. "For all of our sakes, Harry and Draco have to get along. They both have vital roles to play in the upcoming war, and they can only do them together."

"You are an optimist," Minerva said bluntly. "I would rather study realism, myself."

"Sometimes, Minerva, you need a little optimism," he told her gently. "Otherwise, what is there to fight for?"

* * *

Ginny expected to find Harry still in detention when she came back from Herbology. Instead, she found him sitting in the common room, glaring ferociously at anyone who dared to make eye contact. She dropped her books by a chair, and walked over. Planting her hands on her hips, she looked down at him.

"Go away, Ginny," Harry said flatly.

"What happened?" she asked, not moving.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "No, Harry, you're not. What happened?"

"Nothing!" He looked up at her, his eyes hard. "I'm fine."

She sighed. Why did he _always_ do that to them? Couldn't he just realize that there were people who cared about him? "Harry, it's obvious that something's wrong. Just tell me!"

He stood abruptly. "Leave me alone," he said shortly. "Just go away and leave me alone."

She shrank back slightly at the tone of his voice, but stood her ground bravely. "Harry, I want to help you!"

"Then leave me the hell alone!" he shouted. She backed up, and looked at him, fighting the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Fine," she said quietly. "If you want to be like that, then do so. But don't expect me to feel sorry for you when you lose it."

"I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me," he told her, making little effort to moderate his volume. She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and ran as fast as she could out of the common room, plowing through a group of first years on the way. They looked at her in shock, but she was too distressed to realize it. She tore blindly through the halls, looking for a place to hide. She sprinted into the library, but quickly realized that it wouldn't do. Madam Pince looked at her in irritation, but Ginny was already out of sight and down towards the Great Hall. She skirted this, knowing that most of the school was having lunch, and raced out onto the grounds. Hagrid's hut loomed invitingly in the distance, but she wasn't in the mood for company. She just wanted to run, to run as hard and fast as she could until the exhaustion took her and numbed the feeling inside her. She took off towards the Forbidden Forrest, not caring that it was forbidden for a reason. She entered the trees and dashed through the growth, running blindly from the source of her problems.

There was nothing Ginny feared more than losing control. Ever since her first year, when Tom Riddle had possessed her, she'd held a deep seeded fear of losing her control and doing things she would regret. She knew that her mother was still worried about her, and she did her best to prove that she had recovered from the experience. She hadn't, not inside, but her mother didn't need to know that. Ginny hated being fussed over, and her mother had driven her half-insane the summer after her first year.

She finally slowed to a stop, looking around curiously. She'd gone much farther than she'd expected to, and she realized with a pang that she had no idea where she was. 'That's what I get for being oblivious,' she though grimly, scanning the ground for her footsteps. All she could see around her was pine needles, no sign of her track anywhere. She bit her lip, carefully counting her breathing until she calmed down slightly. 'Think logically, Ginny,' she told herself firmly. 'It will be all right. Just send up sparks and Hagrid will come find you. You'll be just fine."

There was a sharp crack next to her, and she whirled, her wand up and pointed before she even knew what was there. Then she gasped in shock. A delicate white unicorn stepped daintily across to her, and regarded her with wide, soulful eyes. Ginny was transfixed. She knew that unicorns were incredibly shy, and that they only approached pure souls. Was it a sign that Tom Riddle hadn't corrupted her? She hoped so. Slowly, she reached out a trembling hand. The unicorn surveyed it for a moment, the walked up and put its nose into the palm of her hand, butting softly. Ginny laughed in delight, and the unicorn looked up with startled eyes.

"Don't go!" Ginny whispered, suddenly irrationally terrified of being left alone again. "Please!"

The unicorn looked at her, and tossed its head, as though to encourage her to follow it. All at once, it turned and darted out of her line of vision.

"Wait!" Ginny called, scrambling to catch up. The unicorn waited until she'd almost gotten close enough to touch again, then took off. Ginny ran after it, her breathing becoming labored much more quickly, now that she was already tired. The unicorn seemed to know exactly when Ginny was too tired to go on, because it would stop, and look back at her. Its eyes would give her more strength, and they would take off again into the forest.

The unicorn finally stopped in the center of the forest. Ginny slowed to a halt next to it, and gasped in amazement and breathlessness. A whole group of unicorns was watching her warily. Her guide stepped forwards, and uttered a short, high whinny. It was the first sound that Ginny had heard it make, and she was slightly taken aback that it sounded so much like a normal horse.

A short dialogue followed between Ginny's guide and the rest of the unicorns, but finally, a much older animal stepped forward. He advanced towards Ginny, his head bowed in respect. Ginny didn't know what to do. Obviously it was some kind of ceremony, but how should she respond? Her guide nodded at her, and she slowly reached out a hand. The old unicorn fit his nose into the palm of her hand, just as the younger had done. The contact only lasted for a moment, and then he stepped back, but Ginny was left with a sense of peace and contentment that was unrivalled for as long as she could remember.

She stayed with the unicorns for only a few moments, but those felt like eternity. Eventually, though, to her great dismay, they started to fade into the forest. Finally, only the young unicorn, Ginny's guide, was left. It touched her with the tip of its horn, lightly enough to pierce neither her clothes nor her skin, but she felt an electric shock pass through her. And then, its horn still touching the area above her heart, it spoke to her.

_I cannot maintain this for long, human female, so listen well. You have made a friend of the Eldest, and you will be welcome back to our forest. When you have need of comfort or guidance, call to me. I am named Dancing Moon. If you speak my name, I will hear you, and I will come for you. You must leave now, human female. Genevera. Your name is odd to us, but we will speak of you for generations. Not many have passed through evil and come out untainted, but you have. You are a friend of the unicorns, and I will come when you call._

The unicorn, Dancing Moon stepped back and walked back into the forest. Ginny stood transfixed for a long moment, her hand touching the area where the horn had touched. She looked back into the heart of the forest, trying to catch a glimpse of her friend, but Dancing Moon had vanished completely. Ginny sighed in disappointment, and started back out of the forest. Inexplicably, she knew where she was going, and she emerged into the open air a few minutes later, neither lost nor depressed anymore. The unicorns had chosen her, and she would never forget that.

* * *

Ginny knew instinctively that she shouldn't tell anyone of her encounter in the forest. When she undressed in the dormitory that night, she noticed a tiny, teardrop scar over her heart. She touched it gently, and smiled. Her mother wouldn't believe her, and her brothers would make fun of her, but it didn't matter. Something incredible had happened to her, and that was all that mattered.

Emily, her best friend, wanted to know about Harry, and Ginny realized that she could talk about him calmly, without wanting to cry. She still felt a deep sorrow over how he'd treated her and anger that he wouldn't let her in, but she could talk about it. Emily agreed that he was being an insensitive jerk, and the two girls heaped abuse of the male species in general, agreeing solemnly that there was no possible way that girls and boys could be related in any way, shape, or form. Ginny managed to get to sleep that night almost right away, comforted by Dancing Moon's ritual offer of friendship, and Emily's much more concrete reassurances.

He avoided her over the next few days, but she received a box of Honeyduke's chocolates as an apology the next night. She knew from Hermione, who'd forced him to talk, that he was banned from leaving school grounds for two months, and decided that he must have sent Ron to buy them for him. Ron was subsequently interrogated, and he swore that he hadn't set foot in the place that year. Ginny finally worked up the courage to ask Harry himself, and he admitted that, yes, he had slipped out at night. She kissed his cheek then, and decided to forget his mood-swings. He was incredibly sweet in the end, and she loved him.

Though she could never get any concrete details, she concluded eventually that Harry was having less of a problem getting along with Malfoy in their detentions. He didn't come into the common room fuming anymore, and he was much more relaxed around everybody. It was a huge relief to all of his friends, and they gradually stopped worrying so much about him.

It was on a Wednesday morning that Lavender Brown started talking. It was innocent enough at first, but soon enough, she leaned over and whispered quite loudly in Parvati's ear, "You know, I heard that Malfoy was going out with someone. A _boy_."

There was instant silence in her vicinity. Ginny felt Harry strain to hear, and she leaned back slightly, allowing him a clearer view of Lavender herself.

Once she was assured of everyone's attention, Lavender allowed herself a smug smile. As it turned out, she didn't have any details, but she swore up and down that it was someone that all of them knew. Ginny, who knew the ways of gossip well, could have sworn that Lavender's eyes rested a fraction of a second too long on Neville. Ginny raised her eyebrows. She doubted that there was any truth to the rumors, but Neville was an interesting choice. Neville looked up, saw both Ginny and Lavender looking at him, and immediately turned beet red. He cast instant suspicion on himself, and Ginny wondered suddenly just how much truth there was in Lavender's rumor after all. Lavender's eyes darted back and forth again, as though picking another target, then stopped mischievously on Harry.

"You have detention with Malfoy today, Harry," she simpered. "Why don't you ask him?"

There was a ripple of snickers, and then all attention was riveted on Harry. He managed to snort disdainfully, though Ginny could feel the tension in his muscles. "If I try and talk to him, Lavender, he'll try to hex me again. McGonagall's taken enough points away from Gryffindor for me to risk it."

Lavender made a big show of looking shocked. "She takes points away from _us_ when he tries to hex you?"

Harry shrugged. "I have a tendency to want to defend myself. Instinctive reaction, you understand."

Everyone laughed, and Lavender sighed, a little wistfully. "I did so want to know," she said. Gradually, the conversation resumed, and the attention moved away from Harry. She felt a little of the tension drain away, but he was still rigid with either shock or fury. Ginny knew him well enough not to press, and led him into a conversation about Quidditch, which he participated in willingly.

She walked with him to the entrance hall, squeezing his hand as she prepared to leave. He smiled, then glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. He leaned forward and deposited a kiss on her mouth. She moaned slightly, but didn't try to keep him when he withdrew. They smiled at each other, then separated. Ginny walked to Herbology, her triumphant expression telling Emily all she needed to know.

* * *

I was reading as the class streamed out of the Transfiguration classroom. Harry grinned at Granger and Weasley, and they grinned back as they sauntered out of the room. He sat down again, rather stiffly, and rummaged around in his bag. We passed about fifteen minutes in silence, as was usual. We hardly ever talked anymore, and I couldn't have said whether I was relieved or not. At least he wasn't insulting me, I thought. It would do.

After fifteen minutes, it was very obvious that he wasn't concentrating. Or rather, he wasn't concentrating on whichever essay he was writing. Instead, he was apparently trying to look anywhere but at me. His discomfort made me lose my own concentration, and I finally put my book down with a growl. "Spit it out, Potter."

He blinked, and tore his gaze away from the window and forced himself to look at me. "What do you think about… well, people who… you know… gay." The last word was almost a whisper. I looked at him hard, wondering whom he'd talked to. Surely no one had guessed?! I tried to reassure myself that, if people had, they would have told him and he wouldn't be asking me questions, he would be pointing his wand at my chest.

I thought very carefully before answering. Finally, I said slowly, "I see no immediate problem with the state of being, no. Why do you ask?"

"What would you do if you found out that one of your friends was like… _that_?"

I allowed myself an infinitesimal sigh of relief. I wasn't one of his friends; therefore no one had been talking about me. "It would depend very much on the friend, Potter," I said.

He sighed. "Why am I asking you, anyway?"

I shrugged. "If you recall, Potter, it was you who brought up the subject. I have no idea why you're talking to me at all, much less about a subject like this."

"I suppose I wanted an unprejudiced view," he muttered, almost to himself. That surprised me. I know myself well enough to realize that I am not what most people would call unprejudiced. The term almost flattered me.

"How wonderful," I said dryly. "Perhaps I would understand better if you would tell me what you were talking about."

"People have been talking," Harry said quietly. "About… well, about you. And Neville"

I froze. On the one hand, I was terrified that he would reject me right there. And _Longbottom_?! Whoever had been spreading the rumors had incredibly bad taste. Or rather, they credited _me_ with the awful taste. As though I would go out with Longbottom to save my life. If _Harry_ asked me… I bit my tongue sharply to distract myself from the thought. This was not the time to be thinking such things. If there had been talk about me, then it would have to be stopped immediately. _Especially_ if my name was linked to Longbottom's.

"What have you heard?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm.

He looked surprised. "Haven't you heard?"

"The only gossip I pay attention to, Potter, is the kind that I can use against my enemies. I don't have any idea what else is floating around this castle. So, I repeat. What have you heard?"

"Lavender Brown started it, I think," he said nervously. He was resolutely avoiding my eyes, and I was still battling my raging temper. "There's nothing concrete, but she says that you have a boyfriend. She won't say who, just that it's someone we all know. She was looking straight at Neville, though."

"Well you can tell Brown that, unless she wants to spend the rest of the year in St. Mungo's, she is invited to keep her mouth shut."

"So it's not true?"

"Not entirely, no." I could have cursed myself the moment the words left my lips. What more proof did I have to give him? A written confession of my sexual orientation? It was hard to keep looking at him, but I made myself keep looking in his direction. I knew that a raging blush was covering my cheeks, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"Then what part is?" he asked, as though reading my mind.

"Let me put it this way, Potter," I said, wondering how much more harm I could do to my reputation. "I have no boyfriend at this present moment."

"But you are like… _that_?"

I ground my teeth together and tried to control my cooking features, with little success. It was his fault, really! What business did he have, asking questions like _that_? Still, the question had been voiced, and I had to answer it. If I kept silent, then he would think the worst, and I was not ready for that.

"Yes, Potter. I am, as you so charmingly put it, like _that_."

He goggled at me, and his own cheeks reddened. He didn't seem to know what to say, and I took pity on him. I was about to keep going, but he recovered enough to manage, "How long?"

I snorted, fighting to regain my own composure. There was no way that I was going to allow him to get the better of me on _this_! "Since I was eleven years old," I said, matter of factly. Silently, I added, 'Since I met you.' That thought would forever remain unvoiced, though, and I told myself that it was better this way.

He too seemed to be gaining control of himself, because his breathing stopped racing and the tide of red was beginning to fade from his cheeks. My own face was still stained red, and I suspected that it wouldn't be fading any time soon. Still, I could talk without stammering, and that was a start.

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

His question caught me off balance. "Isn't it obvious, Potter?" I snapped. "I would much rather return home with all body parts and mental functions intact."

He frowned, and I wondered if he was slower than I thought. That would be a bitter disappointment, though I supposed that we could work around it. I firmly lidded that thought and kicked it as far away as possible.

"You mean people would attack you?" He seemed genuinely confused, and I remembered all of a sudden that he'd been raised by muggles.

"Yes, Potter. I mean that people would attack me. The wizarding world is not… tolerant."

"But it's not your fault, is it?"

I laughed a little bitterly. "Isn't it, Potter? Is it my fault that my hormones are abnormal?"

He sighed. "That depends on what you believe, doesn't it?"

I shrugged. "And what do _you_ believe, Potter?"

He frowned, and I was amazed to realize that he was actually taking my question seriously. Finally, he raised his arms in a gesture of defeat. "I have no idea," he admitted. "I've never thought about it ."

I smirked. "Maybe you should. After all, you never know who will turn out to be like _that_, do you?"

He shook his head. "You're right," he admitted. His mouth twisted slowly into an evil grin, and he finally met my eyes. "So, Malfoy. Do you fancy anyone?"

I stiffened, and prayed to anyone who was listening that he hadn't noticed. "I don't recall that being any of your business, Potter."

He shrugged, but didn't seem too put out. I allowed myself to relax slightly, hoping that that would be the end of the conversation. Unfortunately, my luck was not with me, and he spoke up again. His tone was thoughtful, but his question was one that I would give a lot not to have to answer. "Why is it so much worse for you in… our world? Muggles would be fine with it. Or at least," he amended, "most of them would be."

I gulped, and tried to regulate my thoughts enough to formulate an answer. Finally, I thought that I could speak without embarrassing myself, though I wouldn't look him in the eyes. "It's different for us, Potter. There are millions, probably more, muggles in the world, and tens of thousands right here in Britain. They can afford to lose a few members of society. Sure, they say that they want everyone to marry and have children, but does it matter? They'd be better off if _fewer_ of them reproduced! But I digress. For wizards, we don't have that strength in numbers. We've always had small families, and most of us have enough money to avoid the child killers of the poorer class. And so, we thrived where others died, through money and magic." I paused for a moment, thinking. I'd never really tried to explain it before. It had just been something that everyone knew, something that was part of the racial memory of all pure blood wizards. I was sure that Weasley could have given him an almost exactly similar answer, and I was touched that he'd asked me instead. Not, of course, that it made any difference between us, but it was a decent gesture. I would have to be content with that.

"There were downsides to this, though," I continued after a moment. "The Families, like mine, or the Zabinis, were encouraged to have few children, and to keep secrets close. We became mistrusted by muggles, and that hurried our retreat from their world."

"Wait a second," Harry said, cutting me off. "You mean that wizards used to live with muggles?"

"Wizards _still_ live with muggles, Potter," I snapped. "But yes, we used to be in the open. The prejudices of muggles forced us to go undercover." I glared at him. "May I continue?"

He nodded, a little stiffly.

"Good. As I was saying, we were encouraged to have few children, but that also means that the heir to the family, usually the only child, was encouraged to marry and have an heir of their own. As the heir must be legitimate –that means coming from both the husband _and_ the wife, Potter."

"I know what it means," Harry told me coldly.

"Then you should have the answer to your question. People like _that_ were not tolerated because we are less likely to produce legitimate offspring. Not to mention the fact that we taint the bloodline and, if we _do_ manage to produce children, they will be weak and unable to cope with the stress of being an heir of a prominent family."

He frowned. "But that was centuries ago. Are you telling me that wizard morals and mentality haven't improved since then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Great Merlin, Potter! What do you _think's_ evolved? Wizards are beings of tradition, and if something works, then we don't see reason to change it!"

He shook his head in puzzlement. "That sounds like it could get you into a lot of trouble fairly soon."

I shrugged. "It's the way we do things. It's times like this, Potter, that I remember that you were raised by muggles. If you were Weasley, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." 'We wouldn't be having _any_ conversation,' I added silently.

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then sighed. "It's at these times that I remember that too," he observed, a little sadly. Then, he seemed to think of something. "I won't tell anyone that you told me."

I nodded, but didn't answer him, and the rest of the hour was spent in silence.

* * *

The conversation about homosexuality seemed to have broken the ice between us. I wouldn't have called us bosom friends, but he consented to talk to me about things now. Our conversations ranged from Quidditch to muggles to wizard customs to mutual acquaintances. I learned more about Harry's aunt and uncle, and, though I was sparing with the detail, I told him a little about my childhood at the manor. He seemed genuinely interested in traditional wizarding lore, and I wondered just how much Weasley had neglected to tell him. In return, he explained all about how muggles lived, and I found myself truly fascinated. I'd never really stopped to think about how they lived, and I found myself praising their ingenuity.

He laughed when I told him that. "Mr. Weasley says the same thing," he said.

I raised a scornful eyebrow. "Yes, Potter, but you won't see me making cars fly, will you?"

He shrugged. "You never know," he said mischievously, giving me a genuine grin. It was the first time he'd ever smiled at me, and I felt my insides start to melt in response.

A thought crossed though my mind, and I spoke before I could decide that it was a bad idea. "You know, since we're on civil terms now, we may as well address each other by our given names."

He looked startled, then a calculating look passed across his face. Suddenly, he appeared to throw caution to the wind. "Sure," he said. "Harry, then."

I grinned back at him, and stuck out my hand. "Draco, at your service." He shook my hand, though he did let go a little hastily. I didn't mind. I was sure that I'd died and gone to paradise without realizing it. Surely, nowhere else would my once worst enemy and only true love be shaking my hand and promising to call me Draco.

He frowned suddenly, and backed up slightly. I frowned in return. "What is it?" I asked.

"We can't tell anyone," he said abruptly. "You can't, I can't. Both of us have enemies who would be more than happy to use… this against us."

I sighed, but acknowledged that he had a point. "When you say enemies, do you mean the Dark Lord?"

"Of course," he said. "Don't you?"

I raised my eyebrow again. "So you don't believe the common theory?" I had to ask, had to know if he thought that I was a Death Eater or not.

"I'm asking you," he shot back. "Is he?"

I thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, he is my enemy."

"Well then," Harry said briskly. "What happens in this room stays in this room. We have to act the same as always in the halls and in class."

I nodded. It wouldn't be too hard, after all. "Agreed," I told him.

He smiled at me then, a charmingly innocent smile that took my breath away. I hurriedly turned the conversation back to electricity.

* * *

_Author's note: I would like to say that the unicorns were NOT my idea! I only wrote them in to humor Caroline, who likes Unicorns. The talk about gay wizards is for Kyra.  
--Tamara_

**Sure it was Tamara. You just keep telling yourself that about the unicorns and you'll start believing it.  
--Caroline**

She's right about the gay wizards, though. That was all for me. (thanks!)  
--kyra

_You're welcome. And what do you mean by that little remark, hmm Caroline? You SPECIFICALLY asked me for unicorns!  
--Tamara_

**And you acquiesced without any persuasion on my part. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me.  
--Caroline**

Guys, you should take this someplace else. The people will get bored listening to you.  
--kyra

**Right. Sorry people.  
--Caroline**

_The unicorns were STILL her idea!  
--Tamara_

**TAMARA!  
--**kyra **and Caroline**

_Sorry  
--Tamara_


	7. 3: Change of heart 2

_Author's note: okay, so this is my favorite part. If you know me, then you can probably guess why. Anyway, hope you like it! Reviews are our friends, and, of course, we own nothing. -sigh-  
--kyra_

* * *

Harry knew that something was wrong the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. It wasn't any different from usual, yet there was a tinge of unease resonating through it. He knew instinctively that it came from Slytherin. It usually did. He slipped into his seat between Ron and Hermione, and concentrated on buttering his roll, determined _not_ to look over to see what was happening. Hermione seemed to share his unquiet. Ron, being Ron, didn't notice anything at all, and Harry allowed himself to be drawn into Ron's monologue, which covered everything from Quidditch to Hogsmeade. Mostly Quidditch. As he listened, he tried to pinpoint the uneasiness. Over the past few weeks, he and Draco had become good friends, and Harry was amazed at how much they had in common. He was almost certain that Draco was in trouble now, and the thought perturbed him immensely.

Finally, even Ron couldn't ignore Harry and Hermione's silence, and he looked at both of them. "What's wrong with you two?" he demanded. "You haven't said a word all morning."

Harry shrugged and continued to spread the butter over his roll, though it was thoroughly coated and had been for the last five minutes. Hermione sighed and said, "I don't know, Ron. There's just something that's not right here."

Ron frowned, then did what Harry didn't dare do, and glanced over at the Slytherin table. "Hey!" he said suddenly. "Malfoy's not there!"

Harry gave up on his roll and finally looked across the Great Hall. True enough, Draco was conspicuously absent from the table. The other Slytherins were talking in low voices, and all of them looked worried. One of them, Blaise Zabini, Harry thought, caught his eye and glared ferociously. Harry looked back down.

"I wonder what's happened," Hermione said speculatively.

Ron shrugged. "Why do you care, Hermione? Maybe he's been expelled and we'll be spared his presence for the next year and a half."

Harry concentrated very hard on not wincing. Hermione seemed to catch his mood, because she reached down under the table and squeezed his hand. "It's probably nothing," she said. "Maybe he's just doing homework. There's no reason why it should have anything to do with You-Know-Who."

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "He's probably terrorizing some innocent first years and can't be bothered to come down for breakfast."

"What about the others, though?" Harry asked, nodding discreetly at the other table. "Something's up."

Hermione took one look at his face and frowned. "Harry, don't! You _can't_ sneak into the Slytherin common room again! You'll be caught for sure!"

Ron looked at him in disbelief. "You're not thinking of actually going in _there_ again are you mate? That's suicide, that is!"

Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I need to think for a bit." He looked down at his over-buttered roll, which he hadn't even tasted, and gave up on it. "I'll see you guys later," he told Ron and Hermione, getting up from the table. He didn't need the map to know that they would follow him soon.

As soon as he'd left the Great Hall, he broke into a sprint. He dashed through the corridors to Gryffindor tower, hoping desperately that he wouldn't run into any Professors. Thankfully, luck was on his side for once, and he didn't meet anyone at all. He burst through the portrait, leaving a rather annoyed Fat Lady in his wake, and pounded up the stairs to the dormitory. There, he grabbed the Marauder's Map, recently returned to him, from its place on the top of his bed-side table and opened it, gasping the passwords. The map of Hogwarts spread out before him, and his eyes went directly to the Slytherin common room. At first, he didn't see the name he desperately sought, but… there! The tiny dot labeled Draco Malfoy was motionless in what he was told was a private study. His path there was blocked by hordes of Slytherins. They packed the common room, and he knew without a doubt that he'd never get through even with an invisibility cloak. Thankfully, this was Hogwarts, and there was almost always another way. He scanned the map closely, his eyes searching for any secret passages that he didn't know about. Fred and George had said that there were only seven, but even they didn't know all the secrets of the school. Neither had the Marauders, of course, but it was worth a try. Unfortunately, his search proved to be fruitless. No secret passages could be found leading from anywhere to Draco's private study. He groaned in frustration, wondering just how he was going to do this. It never occurred to him not to go to Draco. Harry Potter kept his friends close, and once someone had been admitted into that small circle, he would do anything in his power to save them, whether they needed it or not.

At that moment, Ron came burst into the dormitory. He took one look at Harry with the map, and groaned. "She _was_ right," he said, dropping down to sit next to Harry. "She _said_ that you'd try something like this."

Harry was about to rise in his own defense, but Ron surprised him. "When do we get started?"

"We?"

"You don't honestly believe that I'd let you do this on your own, do you? Hermione should be here in a few minutes. She just had a few things to clear up." Ron's grimace made it quite clear where Hermione was.

"No." Harry said firmly. "I can't let you do this, Ron. It'll be really dangerous."

Ron snorted. "All the more reason why you shouldn't do it alone. You'll need someone to watch your back."

Harry sighed, realizing that it was probably fruitless to argue. Instead, he handed the map to Ron. "I can't see a way in, can you?"

Ron looked the map over quickly, then looked back up at Harry. "First of all, where exactly do you want to go?" he asked.

"Malfoy's room," Harry answered. He pointed to it with his wand. Then, he leaned forward, fascinated. The map had cleared itself of all but the study, and instructions written in a precise hand that Harry recognized as being Lupin's had appeared.

_To enter study number four undetected, go out through the Gryffindor common room and follow the corridor left until you get to the big suit of armor with the rusty axe. Watch out for Peeves. Pull the axe down and go through the resulting tunnel (not pictured). Turn at the second right and descend the stairs. The door is unlocked with a standard unlocking charm._

Harry and Ron looked at each other in amazement. "Did you know it could do that?" Ron asked finally.

Harry shook his head. He stared once again at the map. He was only just beginning to realize how much work his father and his friends had put into its making. They must have spent years exploring the castle more thoroughly than even Fred and George to have accumulated such knowledge. They couldn't have made the actual map until they were in their sixth year, at least. It was almost as though they'd known that he'd need it someday. Then he told himself firmly to snap out of it. Did it matter what their reasons had been? Here was information that he could use, and he wasn't about to question gifts at this moment.

He was about to start formulating a real plan when the door burst open again and a disheveled Hermione came in. Harry looked up, then stood. "Hermione, what is it?" he asked, striding towards her and making her sit in the spot he'd just vacated.

She took a shuddering breath, then looked at both boys. "Malfoy's mother is in Azkaban."

Harry drew in his breath sharply. Ron looked piercingly over at her. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "Never mind," she said shortly. "But she was convicted as a Death Eater."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry asked. "Now both of his parents are there."

"Who cares?" Ron demanded. "Maybe they'll get him next."

Harry didn't answer, keeping his attention fixedly on not showing any of his distress. Thankfully, Hermione was, as always, the coolest head of the group. "If Malfoy _is_ a Death Eater, Ron, then it's in our best interest to find out as much as we can. You-Know-Who's getting stronger, and if he has supporters inside Hogwarts, we should know."

"Supporters other than Snape, you mean?" Ron asked.

Hermione winced. "Snape's not a Death Eater," she said.

"And the Dark Mark on his arm is just a stylish tattoo?" Ron snapped.

"He's a double agent for us," Hermione hissed.

"So they say," Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione looked about to answer with something else equally unpleasant, but Harry held up a hand. "Look Hermione, Ron. This isn't about Snape. Right now, I want to know about Malfoy. I bet not even Dumbledore can make excuses for him this time!"

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Good point! So when do we start?"

Harry sighed. "Look, Ron," he said. "I really think it should just be me. That way there's less chance of being caught."

Ron looked at him steadily. "We're going, Harry. That's final."

Harry took one look at Ron's face and knew that it would be useless to argue. He would either have to do it with them, or sneak out that night. His mind leaned towards that night, but his heart wanted to find out what was wrong as soon as possible. As usual, his heart won out, and he nodded his consent. "We'll wait until he's gone," Harry said. "Then we can have a look around without anyone noticing."

Both Ron and Hermione nodded, though Hermione looked a little reluctant. Harry looked back at the map, and tapped it experimentally with his wand again. The instructions vanished, replaced with the usual map. Draco was still in his room, but he was moving about. They waited for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, Draco left the room and headed down the stairs. Harry nodded to the others. "Let's go!" he said.

Huddled under the invisibility cloak, they made their way down the corridor. When they reached the suit of armor, Harry took a quick look around, then reached up and pulled the axe down. The suit of armor moved aside, and a perfectly visible door was revealed. The stepped through, hearing the suit of armor grind to its place as they pulled the door shut. They pulled off the invisibility cloak, and set off down the dusty hallway. They didn't talk, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, they reached the second door on the right. Harry was about to pull it open when Hermione stopped him. "Wait!" she hissed. "There might be wards on it. Let me!" Harry stepped back, and Hermione moved forward to examine the door. After a moment, she stood back. "It's clear," she told them. Harry yanked open the door. It groaned horribly as it opened, leading Harry to believe that no one had used it in a _very_ long time. They slipped through, leaving the door open. In front of them were stairs. Way too many stairs. Ron groaned softly.

"I _hate_ stairs," he said to no one in particular. Neither of the other two said anything. They began to descend. After the first twenty stairs, Harry's legs ached, but he kept going. After far too long, they reached the bottom. Harry looked back at the stairs with distaste. Then he turned his attention back to Hermione.

"Can you get through?" he asked.

She stepped up to the door, and examined it closely. She pulled out her wand and began to mutter charms and incantations under her breath. After a few moments, she nodded to the boys. "I'm in," she whispered, pushing the door open cautiously. She stepped into the room, closely followed by the other two. Harry blinked at what he saw. Draco's study was more like a private room. A four-poster bed was pushed into a corner, made up with rich green bedding. In fact, everything in the room was either green or silver. There was an armchair by the fireplace, with a small table in front of it. The fireplace held an assortment of objects and photographs, all magical. Harry glanced at these, noting that there were no pictures of Draco's father. There were plenty of Draco himself, as well as ones with his mother, but Lucius Malfoy was conspicuously absent. The three spread out through the room, examining it in mute surprise. Hermione gave a small gasp of pleasure when she saw Draco's bookshelf, just as lush and all encompassing as her own. She scanned the titles carefully, silently mouthing some of the more interesting ones. Ron was looking at everything in stunned amazement. Harry was sure he'd expected a room full of dark objects and items of torture. As for himself, he wasn't sure what he's expected. He wandered towards the table, and then saw the letter lying on it. He bent forwards to read it, frowning as he did so.

"Dear Mr/Mrs/Miss _Draco Malfoy_,

It is my duty to inform you that your _mother_ has been apprehended and sent to Azkaban prison for a sentence lasting _five to seven_ _years_, for the crime of _supporting the Dark Arts and approving of and/or participating in no fewer than five muggle attacks_. A ministry official will be sent to _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ to explain the future to you. You will be sent to live with _relatives_ until such time as you are _of age_.  
Hoping this finds you well,  
Malfada Hopkirk"

Harry reread the letter again, then called Ron and Hermione over. They both read it silently, then looked at Harry. "You think this is what was wrong this morning?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded. "Makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, now he'll basically be _forced_ to join the Death Eaters, won't he? His only living relative is Bellatrix Lestrange, isn't it?"

Hermione frowned. "But why would they send him to live with a Death Eater?"

Ron shrugged. "The Ministry is so open to the idea of Death Eaters, aren't they? They'll probably just think that Bellatrix will reform when given custody of Malfoy."

Harry snorted. "That's likely," he said to no one in particular. Both of the others nodded.

"We should go," Hermione said. "He might come back."

Ron nodded. Harry nodded as well, but a beat later. Hermione noticed and frowned, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she led the way out the door. Ron followed her, leaving Harry alone in Draco's room. He thought for a few seconds, then pulled out his quill and scrawled, "Talk to me" on the letter. Draco was smart enough to figure out what he meant. Then, he backed out onto the landing and allowed Hermione to put all the wards back on.

Herbology that day seemed to drag on. Harry hardly listened to what Professor Sprout was saying, and it was only Hermione who kept him from almost cutting off far too much of the fanged plant that they were supposed to be pruning. When the hour finally came to an end, Harry had to force himself not to run to McGonagall's classroom. He managed to slow himself to a fast walk, and those he passed didn't look at him _that_ oddly. He finally arrived in the Transfiguration classroom, only to find that Draco wasn't there yet. Harry dropped his books down on the chair, and began pacing back and forth. At long last, Draco arrived. He sneered. "Practicing for the next Quidditch match, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't need to practice, Malfoy. You're so easy to beat that I could do it with my eyes closed."

The customary hostilities preformed, Harry sat down in his seat. He pulled out his potions essay and began to write. After a while, Harry realized that Draco was being uncommonly silent. He looked over at Draco. The other boy wasn't talking, wasn't moving. He was only staring dully at the front of the room. Harry was starting to get worried. There hadn't even been an outburst about Harry being in Draco's room, which wasn't like the fiercely territorial sixteen-year-old that he'd come to know. The news about his mother seemed to have affected Draco greatly, and Harry wondered how long he'd be able even to pretend to function normally. Harry knew that Draco was trusting him immensely by letting his mask drop in front of him. But it wasn't enough. Harry knew grief, had known grief as intense and more than what Draco was going through, and knew the stages. Draco had to let it out, but in a place where he felt safe. If not, he would just keep shoving it back until he lost control and it overwhelmed him completely. At the rate Draco was going, Harry suspected that he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Harry put his essay away, wondering what he was going to do.

Suddenly, Harry heard the sound of muffled sobs. Draco was still looking straight ahead, but his too-thin body shook with heavy sobs. Harry made a split second decision and moved up to sit next Draco. They'd never actually touched, other than that brief handshake, but Harry put a tentative arm around Draco's shoulder. When the other boy didn't shrug away from the contact, Harry moved closer and put both arms around him. Draco cried into Harry's shoulder, and Harry began to stroke Draco's back with one hand, still clinging tightly with the other. Slowly, Draco's frantic sobs began to abate, and he finally took a long, shuddering gasp. He looked up at Harry.

"Do you want me to let go?" Harry whispered. Draco shook his head and buried his face into Harry's shoulder again. "Can you talk about it?" Harry asked quietly. "If you can, it'll help."

There was a long silence, then Draco began to speak, so quietly that Harry hardly heard him at first. "I've never liked my father. He was always hovering over me, looking as though I didn't please him at all. He would ask me questions that I couldn't answer and then jeer at me when I got the answers wrong. It was always my mother who comforted me. She was the one who would kiss me goodnight and tell me bedtime stories. She was the one that I could go to when I had a problem, and I tried as best I could to protect her from my father. When the Dark Lord came back, it was to me that she came with her fears, not to my father. My mother isn't a Death Eater, Harry. My father is. Both of us were afraid of him, and both of us knew that if he had his way, I would become one as well. When he was sent away, my mother and I talked to each other about it, and neither of us said a word to anyone else. She was afraid, but for me. She wasn't at all afraid for herself. She said that she'd be willing to go to death and beyond to keep me safe. I thought that she was just over exaggerating. She must have known that something like this would happen, because she made me promise to stay out of any trouble this year. She said that I would be suspected because of my father, and that I couldn't give anyone any reason to suspect me. And now this. My Mother's not a Death Eater, Harry, believe me. She's been sent to that… that _place_ because of my father, not because of any actual evidence. And now they'll come here, after me. They hate us, Harry. Everyone hates us. Even the others in Slytherin hate me. They're afraid of me, and they hate me. And… and I'm afraid, Harry. I'm afraid of being taken away like she was. I couldn't do it, Harry. I couldn't survive Azkaban. I'm not strong like you. I can't make a Patronus, and I can't close my mind. I'm scared."

He broke off, the tears coming back down his cheeks. Harry didn't know what to say. It occurred to him that this was the most private thing anyone had ever actually told him. Coming as it did from a boy who only weeks before had been one of his most hated enemies, it was even more precious. He continued to hold Draco tightly, allowing the other boy to cry himself out. As he did so, he felt an unexpected warmth, as though he'd suddenly walked closer to a fire. It was as though he was meant to hold Draco like this, as though it had always been meant to be. He didn't dare shift away, though the feeling made him as uncomfortable as it made him delighted, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing. He opened them again to find Draco still shaking slightly. Harry wrapped his arms tighter around Draco's thin form, trying to take the trembling into his own body. Finally the shaking stopped, and Draco's tears slowed to a gradual halt. He looked up again and gray eyes met green. "Thank you," Draco whispered.

Harry didn't say anything, only hugged Draco a little tighter still, then moved to let go. To his surprise, Draco shook his head. "Not yet, please. I… I need your strength." Harry nodded, and they sat in silence for a while, the black haired boy holding the blond haired one, both at peace with each other, if not with the rest of the world.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall had seen many things in her life. She thought that she'd given up being surprised by the actions of her students, but something always happened to dispel her of that notion. The scene she was witnessing proved that. She'd known, as all the staff had, about Mr. Malfoy's mother, and she'd wondered how he would react. She supposed that Severus had talked with the boy, but she and Severus had not been on speaking terms ever since the end of last term. She didn't usually make it a practice to spy on her students, but today she'd given in to her curiosity. She justified herself by saying that she was doing it for Remus, but she knew it was a feeble excuse: she wanted to know as much for herself as she did for him. She realized very quickly what her punishment was going to be. It had started out normally enough. Mr. Malfoy had greeted Mr. Potter viciously, and Mr. Potter had retaliated. Minerva had hoped that the viciousness was just for show. If not, then her entire exercise was being waited. And then, Mr. Potter had moved to sit in his seat and Mr. Malfoy had gone to his. And then things had started going wrong. Minerva had expected them to talk, or at least to communicate, but they had simply sat there. She saw Mr. Potter reach into his bag and pull out a scroll of parchment, on which he began to scribble. Mr. Malfoy just sat, not moving, not speaking, just sitting. Minerva saw that Mr. Potter noticed as well, because he put the parchment back into his bag and began to watch Mr. Malfoy.

And then Mr. Malfoy began to cry. That was the first time that Minerva had been truly shocked. She knew that Mr. Malfoy was an immensely private person: it was very hard to miss the way he always walked into class alone and didn't talk to anyone, and to see him break down in front of Mr. Potter was the first sign of just how badly his mother's arrest had shaken him. Minerva had to admit that she'd expected Mr. Potter just to ignore Mr. Malfoy's pain and go back to his scribbling, but now it was Mr. Potter's turn to shock her. He got up and went to sit next to Mr. Malfoy. Then, he reached over and put his arm around the other boy and held him tightly, stroking him as though he were the most precious thing in the world. Minerva was shocked beyond anything, but there was more to come. Mr. Potter held Mr. Malfoy until the sobs slowed, then whispered something. Minerva had very good hearing, and she could make out exactly what was being said. She heard Mr. Malfoy's confession with surprise, but it was Mr. Potter's reaction that interested her more. He seemed to understand, which struck her as odd. She'd never pictured Mr. Potter as being terribly good at giving comfort, but he was reacting in the same way that Poppy would: letting Mr. Malfoy talk and not offering an opinion. Poppy had once told Minerva, "They don't want a judge, they want a friend." Mr. Potter was obviously following that advice.

When Mr. Malfoy finished, the two of them sat for a while in silence while Mr. Malfoy's tears expended themselves once again. They sat together, holding each other, and Minerva suddenly had the feeling of intruding in something highly intimate, even more so than Mr. Malfoy's breakdown. She ended the spell with a quiet word of command, and looked at the familiar surroundings of her own office with a trembling bewilderment. While she wasn't opposed to homosexuality in general, it was always different when it was between people she knew. She hoped that the two boys would go their separate ways without her having to intervene. She could just see that it was going to be a bad combination, and that it could never work out. No matter what Mr. Malfoy said, Minerva still wasn't convinced of Narcissa's innocence, and she suspected very strongly that the Ministry would pursue young Draco in his turn. It wouldn't be good at all for Mr. Potter to be seen associating with a Death Eater, much less… well, doing the kinds of things that Minerva had just witnessed. And then, she knew that she couldn't do anything on her own. Slowly, she got up from her desk and took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the fire. Then, she spoke her destination in a firm voice and stepped through.

Albus Dumbledore seemed surprised to see her. "Minerva," he said, standing. "What may I do for you?"

For answer, Minerva put her wand to her head and withdrew the silvery strand that was her memory of the event that she'd just witnessed. She placed it into Albus' pensive and said, "You should see this, Albus."

Albus looked at the memory, then lifted his face to Minerva. His usually smiling eyes were serious. "Matters have progressed much farther between them than either of us could have dreamed."

Minerva nodded. "I never intended for anything like this to happen," she told Albus. "I was just so tired of their constant _vendetta_ that I felt the need for drastic action."

"Apparently your drastic action worked," Albus commented mildly, looking into the pensieve.

"What are we going to do?" Minerva asked. "We can't just allow this to continue."

"I do not see what your problem is, Minerva," Albus said. "As far as I can tell, both parties are perfectly content with the arrangement."

"For now, Albus. They're sixteen, for Merlin's sake!" Minerva rarely swore, but now she felt the need for strong language. "And the Ministry will come after Malfoy, you know they will. Potter has a hard enough time with them as it is without having to deal with this additional complication."

Albus surveyed Minerva steadily. "You believe that Narcissa Malfoy is guilty, then?" he asked. "Even after the testimony from her son that both of us have witnessed."

"I don't know what I believe, Albus," Minerva snapped. She was in no mood for his gentle rebukes. If he was angry with her, then he could bloody well say so outright!

"Then perhaps you should decide, before you start making accusations."

"That's all very well, Albus, but what are you going to do about it?"

"Do? I am not going to do anything, Minerva. Both of them need the comfort that the other can offer, and if Harry can get Draco to come over to our side once and for all, then I see absolutely no harm in it."

"But…" Minerva began, but Albus stopped her.

"You are not to do anything to drive them apart, Minerva. Yes, I do know your feelings on the matter, and believe me when I say that I will take them into consideration, but for now, matters must be allowed to progress normally. Do you understand me, Minerva?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Minerva said stiffly.

She turned to go, and Albus asked, "Don't you want to reclaim your memory, Minerva?"

"Quite frankly, Headmaster, I'd rather not," she said, then threw more floo power into his fireplace and stepped through into her own office.

* * *

Gradually, the tide of raw emotions receded, and I looked up at Harry again. I wondered what I was going to say now. I'd just confessed my soul to him, and now I had no idea what to do. Apparently, he was as confused as I was, because he shifted until he could look into my eyes. I must admit I searched them for any hint of love, but all I saw was sympathy and understanding. At least it wasn't hatred. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but somehow it felt necessary.

"Don't be," Harry said. "You needed to. Now it'll be easier to bear."

I wanted to burst into fresh tears at his tone, but I'd cried too much already. Instead, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When I was finally done, the overwhelming desire to weep had subsided, and I could talk normally. "I found your note," I told him.

He grinned. "Do you mind my being in your room?"

I shrugged. "Don't do it all the time," I said. "And don't bring Weasley and Ganger in."

He nodded, though he wouldn't meet my eyes. I chose not to comment. We sat in silence for a while longer, then I pulled my wand out. I dug the crumpled letter out of my pocket and threw it high in the air. A shouted spell later, it was drifting down slowly, reduced to smithereens. Harry looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged, and put my wand away. The overwhelming grief was receding, and in its place, anger was growing. I was angry at the Ministry for being stupid, angry at myself for being weak, angry at my mother for letting herself be taken. Just as quickly as it had come, the anger left and was replaced by a deep despair. I know that Harry sensed it, because his grip on me tightened, and he made me look at him. "Draco," he said urgently. "Draco, talk to me. Don't let it overwhelm you."

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want any company, even his. I just wanted to be alone with my despair and my grief and my anger, but the look in his eyes was so pleading that I didn't move away. I didn't talk, either, though, and finally, he dropped his gaze. I sat there, alone with my thoughts, though he was right next to me, and wondered what to do next. I wanted to do _something_, to keep my mind busy. I didn't need a professional to tell me that if I didn't get my mind off what was happening, I would go totally and completely insane. And then, the answer came to me. It wasn't ideal but it was better than nothing. "Harry?" I asked.

He looked at me. "Yes?"

"Teach me how to conjure a patronus."

I could tell that I'd surprised him. He blinked once, then twice, then suddenly grinned. "It'll be hard," he warned me.

I shrugged. "Good." I needed something hard to take my mind off everything. "How's it done?"

"Well it's better with a Dementor," he said, "but as we don't have any, then I suppose we'll just have to make do without."

He let go of me and stood in one fluid motion. I followed suit. We took off our outer robes and held up our wands. "A patronus is basically the embodiment of your happiest memory," Harry told me. "The hardest thing is to concentrate only on that memory. If you let anything else in, then your patronus will fail." I nodded. "Try," he said.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of my happiest memory. Finally, I chose the day before my eleventh birthday. My father had been away on business, and I'd been alone with my mother. She'd been the happiest I'd ever seen her, and that had made me happy. It was one of the few times that I can ever remember her laughing out loud. I brought forth her image: radiant in her happiness, mouth open in mirth, gray eyes sparkling with delight. I raised my wand. "Expecto Patronum," I said. Nothing happened.

"Try again," Harry urged. "It took me forever to get it right."

I concentrated as hard as I could on the image, but there was something in the background that I couldn't identify. I tried to ignore it as I focused on my mother, but it wouldn't go away. Even as I said the spell, I knew that nothing would happen.

We practiced for the rest of our time together. I hadn't gotten anywhere by the time we had to go, and I was getting more and more angry with myself. Finally, he stopped me. "Draco, stop. You're not going to get anywhere today. You're exhausted, and you can't focus anymore. Go back to your room, eat something, order a hot drink and go to bed. We'll try again tomorrow."

I wondered if he knew that I hadn't eaten all day. Looking at him, I suspected that he did. As he gathered his things together, I said, "Harry? Tomorrow, would you show me yours? Just so I can see what I'm aiming to get?"

He looked at me and nodded. "Sure. Tomorrow." He left the classroom, leaving me alone to gather my own things and make my solitary way back up to my room. I wondered how he'd gotten into my room undetected, and if I could ask him about it, because by now, the news about my mother had gotten around, and everyone was staring at me. I refused to talk to anyone, and walked as fast as I could to my study. When I'd finally made it in, I shut the door and doubled the wards on it. I'd have to tone them down again, but for tonight, I didn't want anyone coming to see me. I yanked on the bell rope, and my house elf appeared. I told it to get me some dinner and a cup of coffee, school rules be damned. I'd gotten addicted to coffee over the summer, and now I was attempting to get off it, but just now, I _needed_ coffee. The house elf popped in a moment later with the tray, and I sent it back with a curt word of thanks. The food in front of me looked delicious, but the coffee was even more tempting. I picked up the cup and just held it for a moment, inhaling the strong fumes and allowing the burning liquid to warm me. I hadn't realized just how cold I was. I lifted the cup to my lips and drank, savoring the bitterness of the liquid. I drained the cup and poured another one from the stoneware pot that the house elf had provided for me. I drained that one as well, then began to eat. I concentrated on cutting the meat into perfectly equal cubes, and alternating with bites of vegetables so that I finished both at the same time. Then I did the same thing with the desert: some kind of pie that I don't remember. Then I drank another cup of coffee. I tried not to think about anything at all, and I finally succeeded in dropping off into a fitful sleep in the armchair by the fire. I dreamed of dementors and screams. I don't know whose screams they were, but they left me terrified and I woke up sweating around three in the morning. I did not go back to sleep.

* * *

The next day passed in a sort of blurry haze. I was exhausted from my overindulgence of coffee and lack of sleep the night before, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Practice with Harry was the same as the day before. He showed me his stag patronus, and I tried desperately to produce one of my own, but no luck. By the time we were finished, Harry was trying to hide his worried expression. I hated it. I hated myself for being weak and not being able to do even this. I didn't talk to him on my way out, and I wouldn't meet anyone's gaze on my way up to my room. That night, the nightmares came back. I woke up at two in the morning and didn't go back to sleep.

Pansy Parkinson was not used to being worried about other people. She was quite used to being worried about herself, and knew the feeling well. This was different. She hadn't paid much attention to Draco Malfoy for the last five years, apart from a burst of fruitless attempts at seduction last year, but she was noticing him now. Actually, it was Blaise who'd noticed first. He'd caught up with her one day after Herbology, when they both had a free period, and asked, "Pansy, what's going on with Draco?"

Pansy blinked. "What do you mean, what's going on with Draco? Is there something wrong with him?"

Blaise sighed in exasperation. "Pansy, you are the most self-absorbed person I've ever met. If there wasn't something wrong with Draco, I wouldn't have asked you what was wrong."

Pansy shook her head. "I have no idea, Blaise," she said. "I've never had much time for Draco."

"Never had any time after he refused you last year, you mean?"

Pansy blushed and didn't answer. That in itself was answer enough. "Can you keep an eye on him, please?" Blaise asked. "He doesn't trust either of us at all, but if we both try and look out for him, we might learn something useful."

Pansy shrugged. "All right," she said. Blaise grinned and rewarded her with a slight kiss on the tip of her nose. Pansy caught him and moved her mouth up to his, deepening the kiss. Then she let go and grinned at him. She left, making sure to accentuate the sway of her hips as she walked.

And so, she'd started to take an interest in Draco. And the more she watched him, the more she wanted to. She wasn't physically attracted to him, nor had she ever really been, but there was something in his face, especially lately, that made her want to take care of him. She'd never seen herself as a particularly caring person, but now she found that she wanted to take care of Draco properly. She shared these feelings with Blaise, who sighed. "Yes, he does look rather like a lost child these days, doesn't he?"

After three days of careful scrutiny, Pansy had decided that it was all Potter's fault. She didn't know what the Gryffindor was doing to Draco, but whatever it was, it wasn't anything good. Both of them would come out of their detentions every day, with Potter walking determinedly ahead and Draco trailing miserably. Pansy began to hate Potter on more than just general principle. This was getting personal!

"You can't prove that Potter's doing anything to Draco," Blaise told her when she told him her suspicions.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But I'm sure that he is, Blaise. You don't watch them walk away like I do. Draco's got this _wounded_ look about him that makes you want to cry. It's got to be Potter!"

"Well, as I suppose asking Potter is out of the question," Blaise said with only the slightest hint of a sarcastic smile. "Then you'll just have to get Draco to talk."

"_I'll_ have to get Draco to talk?!" Pansy demanded, indignant. "What about you, Blaise? This was your idea in the first place!"

Blaise sighed. "All right," he agreed wearily. "_We'll_ get Draco to talk. But don't expect it to be easy. As far as I can tell, he hates both of us."

"I can't imagine why," Pansy said, perfectly sincere.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I can," he muttered under his breath. Pansy pretended not to have heard him.

Saying that they were going to get Draco to talk was much easier than actually doing it. The blond boy was even more reclusive than usual, not putting himself forward in any way, always staying at the back in class, going directly up to his room the moment he got out of detention with Potter. The only chance to talk to him alone was when he was in his room, and he'd strengthened the wards on the door beyond anything Pansy could unravel. Blaise was adamant that they not disturb Draco's privacy. "He has to talk to us of his own free will," Blaise explained. "If not, then he'll think we're intruding, and he'll get defensive and not tell us anything at all." Pansy agreed, a little reluctantly, and they both continued to search for a way to get Draco to talk.

Of course, they should have realized that Draco would catch on. It only took him a week to figure it all out. He cornered Pansy, trying to conceal herself behind a large tapestry, as he was leaving detention. "Why are you following me?" he asked bluntly. "If you're trying to get me to go out with you, save your time."

"I'm not," she said before she could think about it.

"Then what are you doing? You and Blaise both. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

Pansy considered her options. Her very vocal instinct of self-preservation was telling her to run for it, but she fought it valiantly. "We're worried about you, Draco. We don't like the way Potter's treating you, and we're trying to help you."

His eyes dropped for an instant, and she thought that he was going to tell her everything. But then gray eyes met blue and Pansy would have taken a step back if she weren't already against the wall at the hard anger in Draco's eyes. "For the last time, Parkinson," he said quietly. Somehow, this quiet tone was more frightening than all the times various people had shouted at her. She shrank back against the wall. "Leave me alone. There is nothing wrong between me and Potter, and you will keep your fat face out of my affairs, do you understand? If you follow me around any longer, I will hex you to pieces." His eyes bored holes into hers, and she nodded in a frightened way.

"I understand."

"Good."

The sixteen-year-old boy strode away, leaving Pansy still standing there, half concealed behind the tapestry. After a few shocked moments, she began to cry.

Blaise found her there a few minutes later. "Pansy?" he asked worriedly. "Pansy, what is it? What happened?"

She took a deep breath and then recounted her encounter with Draco. "It was the anger in his eyes, mostly," she said, thinking out loud. "It was as though he had to be angry to stop from being afraid. But the _depth_ of that anger…" she shivered. "I've never seen anything like that," she whispered.

Blaise frowned. Then he said, "Pansy, we can't do this alone. We need to talk with Professor Snape."

Pansy nodded. She respected Professor Snape as a teacher and the head of her house, and she knew as well as Blaise did that matters had progressed far beyond them.

* * *

"And just why did you take this… challenge upon yourselves, instead of contacting myself or Professor Dumbledore?" Professor Snape asked acidly.

Pansy and Blaise looked at each other. "It was my idea, sir," Blaise said bravely. "I was worried, and I thought that Draco might respond better to someone of his own age. Apparently I was wrong."

"Obviously," Professor Snape agreed. "And you, Miss Parkinson?"

"I wanted to help him, Professor," Pansy said bravely.

He sniffed. "Well, as I am sure you are aware, your meddling has not done anyone any good. The two of you will stop immediately, do you understand?" Both nodded. "I will speak to the Headmaster about what you have told me. Return to your common room, and I sincerely hope that I need not tell you not to say any of this to anyone."

Pansy and Blaise nodded again, and left the office together. Both of them knew without having to say it that they would continue to watch Draco. It had become like a mission to both of them, and they were determined to get to the bottom of it. By common consent, they went to Blaise's room. He was more powerful than Pansy, and the wards on his room were stronger. Once he'd activated them, he looked at Pansy. "Now what?" he asked. "How do we keep going?"

"I don't know," Pansy answered. "He's suspicious of both of us now, and I am quite willing to believe that he will make good on his threat to hex us to pieces. We'll have to be really careful."

Blaise nodded. "You do realize that if Professor Snape catches us we're dead."

Pansy shrugged. "And if Draco catches us we're dead as well. What's the fun of life without a little risk?"

Blaise looked at her seriously for a moment, then grinned. "Good point," he said. "So do you have a plan?"

"No," Pansy told him. "But I might have an idea." She outlined it to Blaise, who nodded slowly.

"You know, that just might work," he said, and she blushed slightly at the admiration in his eyes.

* * *

In the end, it was Millicent Bulstrode, of all people, who figured it out. She and Pansy were the only girls of their year, but that didn't mean that they were friends. Actually, they'd hardly exchanged more than a few words over the entire six years of their school career. So, Pansy was astonished when Millicent actually sought her out. It was at the end of dinner, which Draco had not attended, and Pansy was getting ready to go back to the common room and talk with Blaise when Millicent intercepted her. "I need to talk to you as soon as possible, Parkinson," the bigger girl hissed.

Pansy looked at her in surprise. "Umm… Do you want to come to my study with me?"

Millicent shrugged and followed Pansy out of the Great Hall. Blaise looked at them curiously, and Pansy shrugged. _She_ didn't know what it was that Millicent wanted.

They reached Pansy's study, and she spoke the password under her breath. The door clicked open, and she gestured for Millicent to go in. Pansy followed, redoing the wards and adding a silencing charm as she did so. Then she lowered herself carefully into one of the plush green armchairs, nodding for Millicent to do the same. They sat in silence for a moment, until Pansy finally said, "You wanted to talk to me, Bulstrode?" Somehow, no one ever used first names with Millicent. Maybe it was that she never used them, or maybe because she looked like she could do rather a lot of harm to delicate parts of your anatomy without breaking into a sweat. But now, she looked almost nervous.

"You and Zabini are interested in Malfoy, aren't you?" she asked bluntly.

Pansy shrugged carefully. "We're worried about him, yes," she said, wondering what the other girl was getting at. Had Snape sent her to spy on them?

"I think he's in love with Potter," Millicent said flatly.

Pansy started. Whatever she'd been expecting, and she'd be the first to admit that she had had no idea what to expect, it hadn't been that. "What?" she managed.

"Are you deaf, Parkinson?" Millicent said impatiently. "I said I think Malfoy's got it bad for Potter."

"How do you know?"

Millicent shrugged. "The way Malfoy looks at him, mostly. He doesn't think anyone notices, and I doubt that anyone else has, but I'm… let's say… naturally observant."

Pansy looked at Millicent curiously. Before she could think of anything to say, Millicent stood up to go. Pansy stood as well. "Do you mind if I tell Blaise that you told me this?"

Millicent shrugged. "You can tell whoever you want, as long as you keep my name out of it." Pansy nodded, and Millicent walked over to the door. She turned back. "Are you going to unward the door to let me out, or am I going to get to stay here forever?" Pansy blushed and murmured the password. The door clicked, and Millicent left without a backwards glance. Pansy stood for a moment, then left as well.

* * *

Harry didn't know what to do. Draco was obviously not doing well at all, but he would never say a word. He always insisted that he was fine, and that Harry didn't have to worry. Harry knew better. Draco had shadows under his eyes as deep as Hermione's the week before an exam. His eyes were haunted with that look that Harry knew only too well, the look of absolute misery that came only from having lost someone near and dear to the heart. But he respected Draco's wishes and didn't push him. He only did what he could, and slipped Draco answers to their homework and tried to teach him to conjure a patronus. That wasn't going well either. Harry had managed to produce at least a wisp of smoke by the end of the third day, and he'd been practicing against an imitation dementor. Draco couldn't do even that at the end of a week of intensive practicing in a brightly lit classroom. Harry suspected that Draco might be trying way too hard, but he knew that anything he said could be taken as criticism, and he was perceptive enough to realize that criticism was the last thing Draco needed. And so he did Draco's homework for him while the other boy tried desperately to summon a silvery animal.

There was no one he could go to for help, though. He was on his own for this, he knew. All of his friends would think him crazy for caring, and they would be more likely to turn him over to Madam Pomfrey than to actually help him. So he continued to go to detention and watch Draco suffer. He didn't know how much more he could take, but he knew that he had to be strong. Draco needed him to be strong, and Harry hated letting his friends down.

Though he hadn't said anything to any of his friends, he should have realized that they would figure it out eventually. They'd spent far too long in his company not to see what Harry saw, and if Draco was as good at hiding his thoughts as Harry, his friends had enough practice to be able to see through anyone's mask if they only let themselves admit that there was anything to see.

"Harry," Hermione demanded, stopping him on the way back from detention. Draco had gone on ahead, and he knew that she'd seen the look in his eyes.

"What?" Harry asked.

"What's wrong with Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. He'd been expecting it, but it was still hard. "Not here. Come with me to the dormitory, will you?"

She nodded, and they walked towards Gryffindor Tower. "Virtus," Hermione said. The Fat Lady nodded, and the portrait swung open. Harry and Hermione stepped through, and walked through the common room towards the dormitory. Harry dropped his books onto his bed, and the two of them sat down. Harry thought, not for the first time, that it was highly unfair that only the Slytherin students who got private studies.

"So?" Hermione demanded, after making sure that they were alone.

"So?" Harry repeated, wondering why he was stalling. He'd have to tell her eventually, after all.

She looked at him in irritation. "What's going on with Malfoy?"

"His mother's in Azkaban, Hermione. Isn't that enough?"

She looked at him closely, as though trying to detect what he wasn't telling her. "Harry, are you telling me that he cares about his parents enough to be this devastated that she's in prison?"

Harry had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth together. He knew that this was what most of the school thought of Draco, knew that he himself had thought the same only weeks before, but it still got on his nerves. "Yes, Hermione, I am. He's just as human as you are, you know. How would _you_ feel if your mother was sent to Azkaban for something she didn't do?"

"How do you know she didn't do it?"

Harry winced. He hadn't meant to say that. He knew that it was vital that he and Draco kept their friendship a secret, for both of their sakes. Even so, it was hard. "I don't know, Hermione," he said carefully. "But I don't think that she's brave enough to go to Voldemort."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've only met her once," he admitted. "But she didn't seem at all like the kind of person who cared about anything more than the next diamond. Why would she go to Voldemort? You've seen what pledging his allegiance to Voldemort did to Malfoy's father. Do you think she'd have risked the same?"

"It happened anyway," Hermione reminded him.

Harry sighed. "Yes," he said in a voice that sounded flat. "It happened anyway."

Fred and George's flyers came during this time. Harry didn't really want to have anything to do with jokes, but he felt a need to do what he'd promised to do. He was amazed that, once he'd put the things up, he actually felt better. Every time he passed one of the flyers, he had to smile. They were constant reminders that life wasn't all death and tragedy. No matter what else happened in their world, humor would remain, and wherever humor was, Fred and George would follow. It was nice to have that small thing to remind him that life was not constant darkness and evil.

* * *

Pansy was getting more and more desperate. Soon, she thought she might be ready to physically kidnap Draco and tie him to a wall and _demand_ that he talk to her. Soon. Millicent's news had been startling, but not actually very useful, except to explain Draco's reaction to her attack on Potter. Apart from that, she and Blaise were still reduced to asking others if they thought anything was wrong. Sooner or later, Draco would find out, and Pansy suspected that there would be hell to pay, but she found that she didn't care. She thought of Draco as a friend, she realized, though the other boy had barely said anything to her at all. A week and a half of trailing him and asking nosy questions about him had brought more into the open than she'd ever realized. It hit her for the first time that Draco had no actual friends. Most Slytherins didn't, of course, but Draco didn't really even have any temporary allies. True, there had been Crabbe and Goyle, but they were stupid lumps and they didn't count. Draco deserved someone better.

She'd taken to reading in the armchair closest to his room, and she knew that he'd noticed. He didn't threaten her any more, though, and for a reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on, that disturbed her even more. She checked the wards on his door every night before she went into her own room, as a sort of ritual. They were always set, always exactly the same. She didn't know whether she found this reassuring or not, but at least it was consistent. And then one night, the wards weren't put up. Pansy suspected that this was a bad sign, and she waited until everyone else had vacated the common room before getting up and knocking timidly on Draco's door. There was no answer, so she grabbed hold of her courage with both hands and pushed the door open. He was there, sitting by the fire, not actually doing anything. Without turning, he said, "Get out, Parkinson."

"No," she said firmly, taking charge of herself for once. "Draco, we need to talk."

"No we don't," he said, still not moving.

"Yes we do. If you don't talk to me, I'll… I'll drag you off to see Madam Pomfrey and _make_ you take potions."

He finally turned to look at her, and she had to forcibly stop herself from taking a step back at the look in his eyes. It wasn't so much that they were angry; it was more the complete absence of anything. "Sit, then, if you're so determined," he said. Pansy sat. They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, it was Draco who broke eye contact. "What do you want, Pansy?"

Taking courage from the renewed use of her first name, she said, "I want to know if you're all right. I want to know the truth."

She thought that he was about to refuse, but instead he let out a short laugh. It was a hollow sound, one that chilled Pansy to the bone. "Am I all right? No, Pansy, I'm not all right. My parents are both is Azkaban for crimes that are the worst imaginable in this present age, I'm being taunted by everyone I meet, you and Blaise are stalking me… To sum it up, no. I'm not at all 'all right'."

She blinked at this blunt appraisal and answer of her question. "What can I do to help you?"

"Leave me the hell alone."

Normally, she would have left. But there was something in his tone, almost as though he was daring her not to, and she was determined not to let him make a fool out of her. "That is not a possibility, Draco. What else?"

"Why do you even care if I live or die, Pansy? If I left, then Blaise would be the king of the house and you'd be his queen. Isn't that what you want?"

"No, it's not what I want. Not anymore. I'm happy with Blaise, Draco. I don't want to be the queen of Slytherin anymore. I want to help you. I want to be your friend. I care about you, Draco. I care about you and I'm worried about you."

"Why now, all of a sudden? You haven't given a second thought to me, except to try and get my money, since you met me. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"

She sighed. She supposed that she owed him an honest answer, and he would expect one. "It was Blaise's idea, really. I don't know what got him interested, but he convinced me to keep an eye on you. What I saw interested me, and I want to get to know you as a person, not as an heir."

He snorted. "You expect me to believe that, Pansy?"

"It's the truth."

"And how far are you willing to go in your quest to save me from myself?"

"As far as I have to."

He laughed bitterly. "Brave words. Let's see how you hold up, shall we." He stood, and nodded towards the door. "Now leave. Immediately."

Pansy moved towards the door, knowing that she'd exhausted her welcome. She stopped on the threshold. "If you need to talk, Draco, you can come to me. I'll listen, no matter what it is."

Draco snorted and shut the door behind her. At least he hadn't refused.

* * *

Hermione knew quite well that Malfoy was fighting and losing a battle against serious depression. At her elementary school, there had been numerous talks about the symptoms and treatments for the condition, and she wondered if she should talk to Madam Pomfrey. Malfoy obviously didn't want anyone to know, though, and she suspected that he would do rather nasty things to her if she told anyone. Even depressed, she respected his skill. It was hard, though. She instinctively wanted to help him, the same way she wanted to help anyone she saw as being helpless. It was only with a great deal of effort that she told herself that Draco Malfoy was far from helpless.

Ron, being Ron, was totally oblivious to anything around him. Hermione suspected that Harry knew more than he was letting on, and he'd even told her that he did, but he refused to reveal any specifics. Hermione wondered, as she had so many times since their conversation, just what Harry's relationship with Malfoy was. They obviously didn't hate each other anymore, or Harry wouldn't have cared. Or maybe she was doing him a disservice. She knew that Harry had what she'd called at the end of last year a "saving people thing." He thought it his duty to rescue people in distress, whether they wanted rescuing or not. It had caused far too many problems last year, and she wondered if it would do the same this year. Surely Harry was the last person Malfoy wanted worrying about him!

The irony of the situation didn't escape her either. Only last summer, it was Harry who was insisting that Malfoy was guilty and she who was begging him to give her a chance. Obviously he'd taken her advice to heart. Her opinion on that, if not on Malfoy's reception to the help and concern, was shared by at least one of the other girls in Gryffindor. Knowing what she did about the politics of her House, she suspected that both Parvati, who'd actually talked to her, and Lavender thought the same way, and Parvati was the only one who was brave enough to actually come out and ask.

Parvati accosted Hermione in the dormitory one day when Lavender was in class. "Hermione, what do you know about Harry?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean, Parvati? I know lots of things about Harry."

Parvati sighed, and dropped gracefully onto her bed. Hermione sat down on her own, and waited for Parvati to continue. When the other girl didn't say anything right away, Hermione asked, "What do you want to know, Parvati?"

"Who does he like?"

Hermione stared. Was the Indian witch going blind? "He likes Ginny, Parvati. Surely you've realized that."

"I know that he's Ginny's boyfriend, yes. But does he really _like_ her?"

"Of course he likes her. Why would he go out with her if he didn't like her?"

Parvati rolled her eyes. "She likes _him_, Hermione. He could just be going out with her because he feels sorry for her."

Hermione frowned. "Harry wouldn't do that, Parvati. Why are you asking, anyway?"

Parvati bit her lip, and looked around the room, as though making sure that they really_ were_ alone. "I think that Harry likes Malfoy."

"_What_?!" Hermione spluttered. That was Not Possible, she told herself firmly, trying to calm her racing pulse.

"I said, I think that Harry likes Malfoy."

"That's not possible, Parvati. Harry hates Malfoy."

"The two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, Hermione."

Hermione looked at Parvati in disgust. The thought of loving and hating someone at the same time was almost repulsive. "That's _not_ happening, Parvati."

Parvati sighed. "Look, Hermione. Don't blow up at me. I know for a fact that Malfoy's got it bad for Harry. I think that Harry might like him back."

Hermione blinked, trying to process what Parvati was telling her. Malfoy liked Harry? Was it possible? She thought back to all of the times the two had met, and she could see nothing that indicated anything other than abject hatred on both sides. She said as much to Parvati.

"That's what Malfoy would want, isn't it? After all, the only heir to the Malfoy family can't be seen in love with another boy, much less a Gryffindor, can he?"

"I suppose not," Hermione conceded. "But what makes you think that Harry likes him back?"

"I'm guessing," Parvati admitted. "But my guesses are usually right."

"So what makes you guess?"

Parvati shrugged. "Oh, lots of little things. Like the way he wouldn't look over at the Slytherin table when the letter came saying that Malfoy's mother want sent to Azkaban. Or how he always looks sad when the detentions are over."

Hermione was impressed by Parvati's powers of observation. She was inexplicably reminded of a television show she'd watched as a child. 'Use your powers of observation, Arnold,' she told herself, smiling a little grimly.

Parvati raised her eyebrows in question, but Hermione shook her head. She didn't think that she could explain.

"How do you know that they're not just friends?" she asked.

Parvati shrugged. "They could be," she admitted. "But friendship can lead to love. After all, do you _really_ think that Malfoy will let Harry just be friends, now that they're on speaking terms?"

"And how do you know that Malfoy's in love with Harry?"

Parvati looked at her witheringly. "Hermione, it's one of the most obvious crushes in the _school_, if you know what to look for. It's not quite as obvious as Denis Creevy's passion for Luna Lovegood, but then, neither of the Creevys know the meaning of the word 'discreet'."

"And Malfoy does?"

"Of course he does! How do you think that so few people know?"

Hermione frowned. "You just said that it was obvious."

"Oh, it is, but only if you know what to look for. Matchmaking is a talent, you know. It's something that you're born with. When you have it, then you can tell all of the really extreme cases, and most of the silly ones. Trust me, this is extreme."

"So why can't you tell about Harry?"

"Obviously he isn't nearly as crazy about Malfoy as Malfoy is about him," Parvati said flatly. "And I figured I might as well ask you first. There's times when you can look too hard."

Hermione sighed. This sounded far too much like Divinations for her comfort. "I don't trust things like that," she said suspiciously. "I mean, how can you be sure?"

Parvati looked at her in exasperation. "I am," she told Hermione firmly. "Look, will you just let me know if you find out anything?" She made the motions of getting up, her black eyes not leaving Hermione's brown ones.

Hermione frowned. "Harry's my best friend, Parvati. I'm not going to spy on him."

Parvati looked a little disappointed, but she recovered quickly. "If you change your mind," she said, smoothing her robes back into immaculate perfection.

Hermione snorted. "That's not likely to happen," she observed.

Parvati shrugged, but didn't answer. She flicked her wand lazily, and the stray hairs sprang back into her glossy ponytail. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror, then waved slightly at Hermione and left the room.

Hermione was highly unsettled by the encounter. She told herself that Parvati was just a romantic, and that she was bored, but she found herself watching Harry and Malfoy closely over the next few days. There didn't _seem_ to be anything different in the way they treated each other, but there was no denying that Malfoy sometimes did go out of his way to insult Harry. A week ago, Hermione would have attributed that to loathing, but with Parvati's prodding, she thought that it might very possibly be something else. Not that she thought Parvati was right about Harry, of course. Maybe, just _maybe_, he'd learned how to talk civilly with Malfoy, but he was most certainly not in love with him. She ignored the voice in her head, the one that sounded like Parvati, which would always add, 'Not yet.' It would not happen, and that was final. Even so, there were days when she couldn't help wondering…

* * *

I think it was Pansy who saved me in the end. It wasn't anything that she did, or really what she said. It was her unspoken promise to accept whatever I could throw at her. That first night, after she left, I returned to my seat by the fire. The coffee pot was long since empty, and I didn't have the energy to call for another one. Instead, I stared moodily into the fire and tried not to think of anything at all. The thoughts that tended to run through my head were rather unpleasant, and I spent a lot of my time _not_ thinking about them. That, of course, made them come at me with a vengeance. As usual, I drifted off in the chair. The nightmare came back, as I'd known it would. Over time, it had become more defined. I now recognized the screams as being my mother's. I was standing on a cliff, and she was at the bottom of it. The dementors were coming after her, and she was plastered against the cliff. She was screaming to me, begging me to drive them away. I was paralyzed with fear, and I knew that I couldn't summon a patronus. There was nothing I could do. I would wake up just as the biggest of all the dementors, which always seemed to be wearing my father's face, came swooping down for the kill. That first night, I found my voice. Nothing happened as I pointed my wand desperately at the dementors, but at least I'd been able to shout the incantation. I don't know what time I woke up: I'd disconnected the clock for that very reason, but I still didn't go back to sleep that night.

The next morning, she was there. She didn't say anything to me, but she didn't leave either. She sat between Blaise and me at breakfast, and though she laughed and chatted with Blaise without saying a word to me, I still felt comforted by her presence. The only time she wasn't there was during detention. I know that Harry was worried about me too and I loved him even more for his own mute acceptance, for his lack of criticism as I failed to make any progress whatsoever on the patronus, and for his willingness to help me with my homework. I hardly heard what happened in class anymore, and his notes in the margins of my papers, always carefully erased once I'd read them, were the only things that made me smile. But I still wondered if he was getting tired of me, wondered if he looked down on me for being weak. I was weak, and I knew it. I wasn't worthy of being a Malfoy, and I certainly wasn't worthy of Harry's love. I wondered if I would be allowed even his friendship for much longer. I dared not hope too hard. Most of the things that I've ever really hoped for have been taken away from me.

That night, I still had my voice.

In the morning, she was waiting again, and she smiled shyly when she saw me. I smiled slightly back, which surprised me as much as it did her. We walked in silence until the Great Hall. And so we continued for the next few days. After a little while, I began to talk to her, and I realized that she was much more intelligent than she seemed. She could carry on a decent conversation, which was more than I'd expected, and she understood all but the most obscure of my references. Blaise too chipped in a little, but he interested me much less. Most of the time, though he understood what I was talking about, he couldn't come up with anything to say back, which is rather boring, in my opinion.

The best thing about Pansy at that point was probably that she never asked about Harry. After I'd threatened her in the hallway that one time, she was careful never even to mention him in my hearing, much less make a derogatory remark. She couldn't hide the hatred when she saw him, but I could pretend not to see that. It was refreshing not to have to think up insults that wouldn't actually hurt Harry himself (though I could care less about hurting Weasley and Granger) yet make them seem valid. With Pansy, I didn't have to. She was also trying not to give away all the details of her personal life, but Pansy Parkinson views the world as her personal confessor, and by the end of a few days, I knew rather more about her and Blaise than I wanted to. She'd always shut up when I asked, but I had to ask. At her nagging, I began to eat again, and when she found out the amount of coffee that I'd been consuming, she actually found my house elf and forbade it to give me any more. The next day, I refused even to notice her.

But, despite my annoyance with what I termed her meddling, I knew in the back of my brain that she was doing me a favor. She was forcing me to come back to the real world, and, though it was painful at times, it was probably the right thing to do.

I suppose that, with time and effort on her part, and a little cooperation on mine, I would have returned for what passed as normal in a few weeks. But what was holding me back was, of course, my failure to conjure a patronus. I'd begun to realize that it was a useless exercise, but I refused to give Harry any more opportunity to think me weak. It was that dejection that hindered my return to normality, and Pansy was sharp enough to notice. Actually, I'm sure she thought that Harry was abusing me, but as I've said, she was careful not to say anything bad about him in my hearing. Instead, she started waiting for me at the outside of the Transfiguration Classroom, a silent presence that lifted my spirits slightly. It was better than nothing.

And then, there was the day when she wasn't there. I hadn't realize how much I'd come to depend on her, and her absence left a hole in my daily ritual. I was still too proud to ask Blaise what had happened, and he obviously was just as proud as I was, and wouldn't tell me unless I asked. I got the feeling that Blaise still disliked me about as much as I disliked him, and my increasing monopolization of Pansy wasn't helping. That day, I paid less attention in class than I had in days, and the teachers noticed. None of them actually talked privately with me, but I could see their worried looks. When I went to detention with Harry, he took over my homework again without asking. I wondered what he'd write in the margins this time, and realized that, for once, I didn't really care. I hated myself for how much I'd come to depend on Pansy, and I was determined to become independent again. I hate depending on people, because every single person I've ever leaned on has left. I valued Pansy's friendship too much to force her to leave. I tried to focus on producing a patronus, but I failed just as much as I had every other day. Finally, half way through the hour, Harry stopped me.

"Draco, wait."

I lowered my wand, and looked over at him. He'd stood up, and he was walking towards me. "What?" I demanded.

He sighed, stopping a few feet away from me. "I think you should take a break." I opened my mouth to argue, but he stopped me. "Draco, you're capable of doing this, I know you are. But you're trying too hard. You can't focus on it anymore, and it's only hurting you."

"Then what do you suggest, that I stop and just let the dementors take me away too?" I was slightly shocked to hear the words come out of my lips. I hadn't intended to say them, and the look on his face told me that they were the wrong words. But I couldn't bring myself to take them back. I had meant them.

He looked down. "No," he said quietly. "No, I don't want that. If you need it, you'll be able to do it. But please, Draco. Talk to me again! I miss talking with you, and I'm going insane here with nothing to do but homework."

It was my turn to sigh. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll do my own homework, if you want."

He shook his head in slight annoyance. "I'll do your homework, Draco. I just want you to talk to me while I do it."

I sat down at the table, and he drew me into one of our long rambling conversations. I tried, I really did, but I could tell that he was disappointed. He tried not to show it, though, and when it was time to go, he grinned at me as he left.

* * *

Pansy was still gone when I left detention, and I walked to lunch in a preoccupied mood. The conversation with Harry _had_ lifted my spirits slightly and, though I refused to admit it, it was a relief not to have to watch his expression turn more and more worried as I failed to produce any kind of patronus. Blaise finally informed me that Pansy was sick, and was enjoying a day's bed rest at Madam Pomfrey's orders, and I nodded gratefully to him. We didn't talk more, though, and when lunch finally ended, I left as quickly as I could.

Pansy was back on her feet by the time I'd gotten back to the Slytherin common room that night, and she was eager for as much gossip as I could feed her. I didn't have much to tell her, but she seemed to enjoy the story of how Flitwick had been so irritated by Hannah Abbot's failure to change her white rabbit plaid, that he'd demonstrated it incorrectly and turned his own hair a magnificent red and green plaid pattern.

"And you?" she asked quietly.

I shrugged. "I'll do," I said dismissively, knowing that she wouldn't believe me. It was true, though: I felt better than I had for a long time. I didn't know if that was because of my talk with Harry, or if I was just finally starting to move on, but it felt amazingly good.

She frowned at me, but didn't comment. We talked for a few more minutes, but I left as soon as she started to look tired. I wanted her back the next day, and I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. It was selfish of me, I know, but I disguised the selfishness by telling myself firmly that it benefited her as well. It didn't work too well, but I am quite capable of lying to myself, and I have no qualms whatsoever about doing so.

I was slightly afraid to go to sleep that night. It had been a good day, comparatively, and I was scared of the dream that would come back and ruin it all. I knew that it would come back. It always did, and it was always the same. Why should it be any different this time?

It started out the same as always. The dementors swooped towards her, and she screamed. She begged me to help her, and I desperately pointed my wand and shouted the incantation. Nothing happened. Just as the dementor with my father's face came towards me, I heard Harry's voice in my head. "You're capable of doing this, I know you are."

I frowned, trying to remember the way he'd looked at me. There was _faith_ in his eyes, I realized. It wasn't disappointment, it was faith. He knew that I could do it. Almost without thinking, I pointed my wand at the dementor and shouted, "EXPECTO PATROMUM!" To my shock, a silvery form erupted out of my wand and sprinted towards the dementor. It turned to look at me in surprise, then opened its mouth in a silent shriek of horror as my patronus reached it and snarled. The other dementors shied away, and when my patronus began to advance on the head dementor, all of them turned and floated away as quickly as they could. The one with my father's face turned to look hard at me before it fled, but I didn't look at it; I was too busy studying my patronus. At first glance, it was a lioness, but I refused to believe that I'd conjured up a lion. That would be the ultimate betrayal to my house, after all. It turned to face me, and I saw a slight hint of spots. A panther, then. Possibly even a black panther. I had to grin slightly. Whoever gave out patronuses obviously didn't realize what they were doing. There was no way I deserved a panther. It was a nice gesture, though, and one that I thought Harry would appreciate.


	8. 4: friendship 1

_Author's note: Well, here's the next chapter. Hope you like it! (Sorry, we have nothing witty or entertaining to say, so we won't bore you.)  
Disclaimer: do we _look_ like JKR?_

* * *

4: friendship

With the success of Draco's patronus, he quickly returned to his usual self. Harry had been delighted in detention when Draco proudly showed him his black panther patronus, and agreed that there was no way it could be a lioness. They laughed about it together, and though there was something in Draco's eyes that still worried Harry sometimes, he didn't press the blond boy for details. He knew what it was like to be pushed too soon, and he knew that Draco wouldn't thank him.

The incident had cemented their friendship, and Harry often found himself filing things in the back of his head to remember to tell Draco. It was an odd feeling, and if he stopped to examine it for too long, it was utterly disconcerting. He learned not to look at it too closely, accepting it for what it was. Harry had too few real friends to risk alienating any of them. The disconcerting warmth had returned a few times, but Harry had learned to ignore it. He didn't know what it was, didn't care to guess, and refused to risk examining it. If it was what he wouldn't admit it might be… well, _problems_ would be an understatement.

His time with Draco didn't cut into his time with Ginny, though. Far from it, in fact. She'd taken to waiting for him in the hallway outside of the Transfiguration classroom a few days a week and walking with him to the Great Hall. On these days, they would usually skip lunch there altogether and go out onto the grounds with a picnic thoughtfully supplied by Dobby and his army of House-Elves. They talked some, and listened some, and gradually became more and more comfortable around each other. Harry learned more about Ginny's childhood at the Burrow than he'd ever even imagined, and he told her selected excerpts from his time with the Dursleys. She seemed to enjoy his tales about humiliating Dudley as much as he did, and she laughed hilariously when he told about shutting him in the snake exhibit at the zoo.

"They had to call the zoo-keeper and everything," Harry said, grinning as he reminisced. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were furious, but it was worth it to see the look on his face. He was totally terrified!"

She laughed. "How long did he stay in there?"

"Not nearly long enough. He managed to fit through the door, which he might not be able to do now, and they took him off to the restaurant and bought him ice cream. Uncle Vernon made them pay for it, too."

"Didn't you get any?"

He shook his head. "No, but it didn't matter. I'd already had one and, unlike Dudley, I don't care to look like a human walrus."

This only made her laugh harder. "You should call him that from now on! At Christmas, you could send him an anonymous love letter addressed to, 'My Darling Walrus in Human Form.'"

Harry laughed along with her. "You know, I think I might just do that. If I can find a muggle post office, then no one will suspect me. My handwriting can be disguised easily enough. Or you could write it."

She grinned. "I will," she promised. "Tell me what to write, and you can teach me how to send a letter the muggle way."

He nodded. "All right. Help me remember in November, will you?"

"We could do it now. It doesn't _have_ to be a Christmas card, you know." She dug around in her bag and came out with a piece of parchment, a quill, and a heavy book. She balanced the book on her knees and said, "Tell me what to write."

Harry thought for a moment, then began. "To my darling walrus in human form: I love you so much! The way your blubber jiggles when you walk makes shivers run up my spine. I adore the way you pick on others to make yourself look stronger, even though it doesn't work. I delight in listening to you try so hard in class, even though you get all the answers wrong. I wish you didn't have to spend all summer in that house with your awful parents, but I realize that I can't have everything. I pine for your answer, my dear. My fingers yearn to stroke your oversized belly and burry themselves amid the layers of fat."

By the time he was finished, both he and Ginny were laughing so hard that she could hardly keep writing. She carefully signed the letter in curly handwriting, and passed it to Harry. He snorted as he read the signature: Pansy Parkinson. He wondered if he should forward a copy of the answer to the actual Pansy, if they received one. He pulled out his wand and carefully changed the parchment into a piece of flower-covered stationary, which emitted a ghastly smell of flowery perfume. He stuffed it into his bag, vowing to come up with a muggle envelope and stamp soon to send it.

"Do you think he'll answer?" Ginny asked, putting away her supplies.

Harry shrugged. "We haven't given him a return address," he pointed out.

She frowned. "Do you think we should?"

He shook his head. "If we give him a fake one, then he'll know that it's a trick. No, it's better just to leave it blank. He's thick enough to believe it."

She sighed. "I wish we could see his reaction!"

"Do you think Fred and George have anything that'll let us eavesdrop?"

"I don't know. Let me owl them to find out. If it's discreet, then we can just send it with the letter."

Two days later, a reply came from the twins, enclosing two small red stickers and a sheet of detailed instructions. Harry read them over Ginny's shoulder, marveling at the precision of the charms that were involved, and the simplicity of the steps to set them into action. All they had to do was stick one on the outside of the envelope or, better yet, on the back of the letter. It would begin to work as soon as Dudley touched it, and they would be able to see and hear everything that happened as long as they were in contact with the other. They would know when the first one was activated, Fred and George promised, although they wouldn't say how. They also added that, if Harry wanted, they would send him more samples to help his guise as their PR person. Ginny carefully took their sticker and placed it on the inside of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, saying that that was exactly where Dudley should be.

Finding a way to mail the letter was harder. Harry was still officially on Academic Probation, and Ginny couldn't leave the castle until the first Hogsmeade weekend anyway. They discussed various ways to sneak out, but dismissed all of them as unworkable. They didn't want to get caught, and Harry knew instinctively that Dumbledore wouldn't approve at all of what they were doing. Finally, Ron provided the answer.

"I can just ask dad for an envelope. I'll tell him that I can send it the muggle way, but that I don't have any. They'll send me a stamp as well."

Both Harry and Ginny thanked him enthusiastically, and the very next day he received a muggle envelope complete with a stamp. Harry put the letter inside, dictating the Dursley's address to Ginny as she addressed it. The portal sicker was on the back of the letter, in a spot where they were almost sure that Dudley would touch. Ginny kept _Fantastic Beasts_ with her at all times, and all three of them waited in feverish excitement for the time when Dudley would open the letter and discover what it said.

Finally, at long last, the sticker began to heat up. Ginny, who'd been fingering their sticker, felt it first. Harry and Ron crowded around, and watched with childish excitement as Dudley read the letter, and struggled to find a way to react. Aunt Petunia was called in, and she had no idea how to react either. They weren't sure if it was a two way portal, so they had to contain their hilarity, but it was increasingly hard as Uncle Vernon came home and blew up. By the time the letter had been rescued from the fire once and stuffed into Dudley's school notebook, they had to break the contact to burst out into gales of furious laughter.

"I wish we could keep this forever!" Harry gasped out finally. "I wonder if I can find a good excuse to tease him about it this summer."

"Tell him you know the girl who wrote it," Ron suggested. "Then he'd be doubly frustrated!"

They all agreed that this was a very good plan, and Harry promised to keep them both updated as to the continuing saga of the Walrus in Human Form.

* * *

The first Gryffindor Quidditch match arrived the next Saturday, and none of the three had recovered enough to be in anything resembling a bad mood. In fact, Harry was ecstatic, and he, along with Ginny and Ron, who'd both made the team, subjected Hermione to far more Quidditch mania than she could reasonably stand. She soon vanished into the library, leaving the three athletes no choice but to go down to the Great Hall in the hopes of crossing paths with someone who would listen to their pre-game hype. Harry couldn't even feel disgruntled when that person was Draco.

"Want to get hurt to sit out this match, Malfoy?" Ginny shouted, seeing him. "You'll get clobbered if you don't!"

"Trust me, _you_ are going to be crushed, Potter!" he said, totally ignoring Ginny. She glowered furiously at him, and made not-so-subtle moves towards her wand.

"Really?" Harry asked, lifting his eyebrows. "You know, Malfoy, you've said that every single Quidditch match so far, and I've won them all."

"It'll be different this time," Draco said, glaring.

"You say _that _every time too," Harry reminded him. "Now, if you'll get out of my way, Malfoy…"

Draco snarled, but Harry shoved his way past, grinning at Ron and Ginny, who'd reluctantly let go of her wand. "Just ignore him," he advised. "He's afraid of us, you know."

Ron shrugged. "He's a rotten flyer too."

Draco heard the comment, and whispered loudly to Blaise, "_Weasley is our King!_"

Ron's face went red, but Harry clamped his hand around Ron's elbow and escorted him out of earshot. Ron didn't mention the incident, and the three of them concentrated on preparing for the game ahead. Harry changed into his Quidditch robes, preferring to do it in the comfort of the dormitory instead of the changing room. Ron followed suit, and soon both of them were ablaze with red and gold. Harry grabbed his broom, and clattered down the stairs, checking one last time to make sure his wand was safely hidden in his pocket. He'd had too many surprises to risk leaving without it.

The rest of the team, including Ginny, was waiting for them, and Harry realized suddenly that both Wood and Angelina had given pre-game speeches. He felt his face flush slightly, and thought wildly, 'What the _hell_ am I going to say?'

Finally, he sighed. There was no getting around it. He was going to have to say something, after all. "I'm not really one for pep talks," he began. The team fell silent, watching him. "All I really have to say is this: we've always beaten Slytherin. We know their tactics, and we've flown against them way more times that I can count. We're good, and if we remember that, then we shouldn't have any trouble."

Ginny grinned at him, and he grinned back. "Let's get out and play!" There was a rousing cheer, and they streamed out onto the field. Harry glanced at the stands, trying to see who was announcing the game. With Lee Jordan gone, the post was open, and anyone who wanted to could try out for the position.

To his surprise, it was Seamus who lifted the microphone to his mouth and bellowed, "Hello and welcome to the first game of the year! Facing off today, we have Gryffindor," there was a rousing cheer from three quarters of the stands, "versus Slytherin!" The green section shouted as loudly as they could, making almost as much noise as the other three. Harry was impressed. Obviously, the Slytherins had learned to shout loudly to make up for their lack of numbers.

Seamus rattled off the players as they flew their warm-up lap around the pitch and landed in front of Madam Hooch. "I expect you all to follow the rules!" she said, glaring hard at the Slytherin side. Draco glared back at her, then shifted his glare to Harry. "Captains, shake hands!"

Harry and Draco stepped towards each other, and shook hands. Draco muttered, "Good luck," so softly that Harry hardly heard. He nodded infinitesimally back, and stepped away. He returned to his place in the game and mounted his broom. At Madam Hooch's whistle, he shot up into the air, his eyes already scanning the field for the snitch. He saw Draco doing the same, but paid him no mind. Draco might be a friend off the pitch, but in the air, he was the opponent, and Harry didn't intend to show any mercy. He knew that Draco felt the same way, and that he would get no relief from that end. He didn't want any. Quidditch was apart from friendship, and if a friendship couldn't survive a match, maybe it wasn't meant to be.

He dimly listened to Seamus' commentary, noting that Gryffindor was only slightly ahead, and that Slytherin had been fouled several times already. The snitch still hadn't made an appearance, but he knew that it was only a matter of time. Draco wasn't following him, but scanning his own half of the pitch. Harry kept half an eye on him in case he made any sudden movements, but Draco seemed content to bide his time just as Harry was. And suddenly, there it was! It hovered just out of Draco's line of sight, and Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before Draco turned and saw it. He made his way cautiously over towards Draco, seeing the other boy's eyes lock on him, hoping against hope that it would work, he dived, counting on the speed of his broom to make it. Sure enough, Draco followed. Harry came out of the dive sharply, swooping up to where the snitch was still hovering. It darted just out of reach, but he was faster than it was, and he brushed it with his fingertips. He leaned forwards, straining, and there it was! He grasped it, feeling its wings beat frantically as it struggled to get free. But it was too late. It was secure in Harry's fist, and he raised his arms in triumph, guiding his Firebolt with his knees alone. Draco, who'd realized a fraction of an instant too late what Harry was up to, came up next to him.

"You are going to pay for that, Potter," he snarled.

Harry grinned, too happy to try to be subtle. "In your dreams, Malfoy!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You want to bet on that?"

"You're on. Loser buys dinner."

"Deal!"

Harry veered sharply away, and landed in the middle of his team.

"That was utterly _brilliant_, Harry!" Ron shouted gleefully. "Did you see that look on Malfoy's face?"

Harry nodded, still grinning. "He thinks that he'll beat us next game."

Katie shook her head. "They're living in a dream world," she said. "There's no way they can match your speed, Harry! Malfoy's two thousand and one is _so_ outclassed!"

Ginny nodded. "Their tactics suck as well," she observed. "They have no strategy except trying to plow into as many of us as possible."

"But we've beaten them again!" Ron yelled. "They're history!"

This caused a rousing cheer from the rest of the team, and they walked back to the castle together, still talking animatedly and accepting congratulations from their friends and supporters. Luna drifted over to tell them that she'd enjoyed the game, then wandered away again, lost in her own world. Harry hardly noticed her, wrapped up in the elation of victory. They arrived at the common room and passed through, greeted by loud exclamations and cheers. Someone had taken up Fred and George's role of food provider, and the Quidditch team was loaded down with edibles before they'd made it to the other side of the common room. Harry laughed and chatted with friends, congratulating Seamus on his role as commentator. He had to admit to not having listened much, but promised to pay closer attention at the next game.

At some time during the evening, Dean jumped up onto a table. He amplified his voice, and roared, "HERE'S TO OUR TEAM!" There was a deafening cheer of approval, and he continued, "WE'VE STARTED MARVELOUSLY! LET'S KEEP IT UP AND WIN THE CUP AGAIN THIS YEAR!" Another roar of support followed, and Dean jumped off the table.

Ginny took his place, much to Harry's surprise. She too magnified her voice, and her words filled the common room. "HERE'S TO HARRY, OUR CAPTAIN AND SEEKER! THANK YOU FOR AN AMAZING VICTORY, AND I HOPE THAT YOU'RE INTENDING TO KEEP IT UP LIKE DEAN SUGGESTED. IF NOT, I KNOW THAT I, FOR ONE, WILL BE INCREDIBLY DISAPOINTED WITH YOU!" There was laughter along with the cheers, and Harry felt his face begin to flame. Ginny reached down and hauled him up onto the table next to her.

He sighed, knowing that he had to say something. He pointed his wand at himself and muttered the incantation. When he spoke again, his voice was loud enough to be heard above the shouting. "HERE'S TO THE REST OF THE TEAM! THEY'RE THE ONES WHO DID THE REAL WORK! I JUST CHASE AFTER A LITTLE GOLDEN BALL THAT THINKS IT'S A BIRD! SO, FOR THEIR SAKE, I SURE HOPE THAT WE'LL WIN THE CUP AGAIN! MCGONAGALL WANTS IT TO STAY IN HER OFFICE!" This was met with more laughter, and Ginny turned towards him, her eyes shining. Before the entire House, she reached over and kissed him deeply. Several of the girls gave little sighs, and the boys cheered them on shamelessly. Finally, Ginny stood back.

"No more until we win the Cup," she teased.

Harry grinned, realizing that he wanted that Cup _very_ badly.

* * *

I grinned at him as he walked into detention the next day. "You are going to regret yesterday," I told him wickedly. "Believe me, I am going to make you pay for that!"

He shrugged, and dropped his things onto the table. He looked tired, and I wondered just how long they'd stayed up celebrating the night before. "You'll have to get a heck of a lot better first," he pointed out. "I can beat you with my eyes closed at this point."

"Oh yeah?"

"I did, didn't I?"

"I was watching you. Your eyes were wide open!"

He rolled the eyes in question. "They were closed in spirit, Draco."

I snorted. "Won't cut it, I'm afraid. Make sure you win all your other matches so that we can face each other again for the cup. I'll prove to you _then_ how much better I am than you!"

"Deal. You win yours as well. And if you lose to Ravenclaw, I may have to get quite angry with you."

"I assure you Harry, I have no intention whatsoever of losing to Ravenclaw."

"Good."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he bent down to take out his homework. He was still scowling fiercely, but it was a totally different scowl than it would have been last year. This was in response to a challenge, not an insult. I grinned. "You know, you look practically irresistible when you do that," I remarked.

He glanced up at me, his eyebrows lifting. "You're joking, right?"

I shook my head. "Harry, if I were a girl, then I would be scheming as hard as I could to catch you."

"I'm already caught."

"More's the pity. You honestly don't realize how you look, do you?"

He grimaced. "I'm not handsome, if that's what you mean. I'm skinny, unkempt, and I could care less about how I look."

I rolled my eyes. He really didn't see it, did he? "Let me put this into perspective for you. You've shot up over the summer. Quidditch has given you muscles and grace that you don't even realize. Now, compare that to the other boys in our year. Longbottom wouldn't know grace if it whacked him with a stick. Finnegan is… in a word, nerdy. Thomas… let's not even talk about Thomas. Granted, Weasley is moderately attractive, but he's much less open than you are, and that's a determent to girls. Face it Harry, you are officially the most desirable male in the school at this moment."

He was eyeing me skeptically. "Is that objective, Draco? For all I know, you could be scheming to get me for yourself. After all, you did come out to me."

I shrugged, trying to control my racing heart. Had he guessed? But he was looking at me with open curiosity, and I doubted that he would be asking if he thought that I would say yes. "Because I am out to you, then you'll know that you can trust my judgment. Obviously, I am viewing you in the same way that girls would, so I know what they see."

He still looked doubtful. I sensed that he was about to keep arguing, and I sighed. "Look, if I showed you physically what I mean, _then_ would you believe me?"

"I don't think that you could," he said frankly.

I shrugged, and dug into my own bag. I pulled out a piece of parchment and a muggle pencil. I'd tried numerous times, but it is physically impossible to draw correctly with a quill. I'd given up last year and sent an owl to my mother for a supply of number two pencils. She, being who she is, didn't ask any questions, and within the week I had a pack of twenty-four of the things. I was down to around five now, and I wondered how I would manage to get more. I wondered idly if Hogsmeade sold them. That wasn't important now, though, and I bent my head to the parchment, watching him for a long moment before placing the pencil to the parchment.

I drew as I watched him, trying my hardest to capture his spirit. He was caring and understanding, willing to help anyone that he cared about and even those he didn't; he was careful and methodical when he wanted to be, able to do things of the greatest delicacy with the greatest precision when he got over his macho man act. He carried terrible burdens of his own, and still agreed to carry those of others. He was the heart of the Quidditch team, and the soul of any room he entered. He'd captured my heart at eleven, and his image was still imprinted into my heart. He was fury itself when his friends were being threatened, and the embodiment of loyalty. I'd been brought into his inner circle, and I'd watched him closely enough to realize that he would now protect me as fiercely as he would protect Granger and Weasley. He was a friend and a confessor, and I didn't know how I could ask for more.

Something told me that the picture was done, and I pulled my attention back to the real world. It was his face, concentrated on something far away, maybe the snitch, maybe something totally different. His lips were pulled together in concentration, and his eyes were narrowed to bring the unknown object into focus. He was perfect to my eyes, and I knew that, though my drawing was a poor substitute for reality, it had managed to capture a little bit of what I'd been telling him. I signed it quickly and hesitated for a moment before pushing it across the desk.

He looked at it, then looked up at me, his eyebrows unintentionally assuming the position that I'd drawn them in. "I don't know which is more unbelievable: that you can draw like that, or that you've chosen to draw _me_."

I grinned. "I've always been able to draw," I said. "And you asked me to draw you. I could do the Weasley girl as well, if you want."

His eyes took on a calculating look. "Could you do us together?"

"Would she consent to modeling for me?"

"No."

"Sorry." I was relieved. I had no desire whatsoever to discuss Ginny Weasley with him, and I _certainly_ didn't want to draw them together. I wondered if I would even be able to.

He sighed. "I suppose it would have been too much to ask," he admitted. His eyes turned back to the picture. "You really did this just now?"

I nodded. "It's not that hard," I said dismissively. "The muse takes you over and you don't notice what you're doing."

His eyebrows shot up. "The muse?" he asked skeptically.

I shrugged. "What else do you want me to call it? The artistic possession? Muse sounds so much better."

"But what does it mean, exactly?"

"There's a presence, one that I choose to call my muse, that takes over my limbs and causes my hand to move across the paper without my controlling it."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm sure I don't know. How is it possible that you can fly and be perfectly and completely in tune with the wind and the air that you can hear the snitch coming before you see it, and you can lift your arm and catch it without even seeing it?"

"That's not the same," he protested.

I snorted. "Oh yeah? Tell me that you feel completely in control of yourself in that one moment of athletic perfection."

He frowned, thinking. Suddenly, he shrugged. "I suppose I see a little of what you mean," he admitted. "But it's somehow scarier when it's something that doesn't happen to _me_."

"That's always how it works," I informed him.

"But have you had the Quidditch moments?" he wanted to know.

I shook my head. "I'm not a natural like you are. Sure, I'm good, but the skill that I have came from practice, not talent. You've got the inborn talent for the sport."

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

"It's the truth."

"It still means a lot to hear you say it, especially after I beat you yesterday."

I snorted. "How do you think I know what I'm talking about?" I demanded. "I watched you yesterday, you know."

"And what did you see?"

"Love," I said flatly.

"Excuse me?"

"You love the sport, don't even try to tell me that you don't."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he took my picture again and looked at it for a long moment. I watched him look, treasuring the look in his eyes as he examined my work. There was still the insane vulnerability that came from having someone else, especially him, look at my art, but he was holding it so gently, and the look in his eyes was so perfect that I couldn't help loving it. Of course, I love everything about him, but this was different. It made me want to do everything in the world to please him so that that look would stay in his eyes. It was more than appreciation, it was amazement. He was amazed at something that _I'd_ done. Even now, that level of amazement in his gaze when he looked at me was rare, and I'd been able to, I would have drawn that too. I don't trust my own artistic powers to be able to capture something as precious as that, though, so I only gazed at him through lowered eyes, trying to capture the image in my mind forever.

"You're perfect when you look like that," I blurted out.

He looked up, startled, staring at me. I felt my face flame, and mumbled some indistinct remark that might possibly have been an apology. I couldn't look at him anymore, and I turned my eyes to the desk in front of me, tracing the grain of the wood as though it were the most interesting thing in the world at that instant. After a moment, he turned back to the picture and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't know what had made me speak those words, and I was terrified that he would take them the wrong way. I was perfectly happy with his friendship, and I didn't want anything more. Or rather, I couldn't hope for anything more: I _wanted_ far more, but I doubted that it would come. Friendship was enough. It had to be.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how to react. Draco's compliment had been completely unexpected, and he didn't know how it had been intended. Draco's subsequent reaction had seemed to indicate that it had been a mistake, but why was Draco thinking things like that anyway? Did he…?

No. Harry firmly lidded those thoughts. He had no business speculating on things like that, and they certainly weren't _his_ business anyway. The fact that Draco had come out didn't automatically mean that he fancied anyone at this point. And it most _certainly_ didn't mean that he fancied Harry. Even if Harry wouldn't have minded terribly if he did.

Harry reeled. Where had _that_ thought come from? He was sure that he didn't feel like that, and the fact that such thoughts kept drifting through his head bothered him intensely. He left the detention troubled, though he carefully packed Draco's picture in one of his books and made a mental note to put it somewhere safe as soon as he could. He headed to the dormitory, not in the mood for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He hoped that Dumbledore would understand. After all, if he called Harry in and preformed his usual mind-reading act, then he would know what had happened, and he would understand.

To his gratification, Ginny was sitting in the common room, absorbed in a book. She looked up in surprise as Harry came over to her. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. Aren't you?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nope. Professor Trelawney announced that there were bad omens in the stars and that she simply couldn't conduct class today."

"Why are you taking Divinations, anyway?" Harry demanded.

She shrugged. "I had a hole in my schedule that I needed to fill up, and that fit. Besides, Mum says that knowing the theory could be useful later on."

He rolled his eyes. "Not if Trelawney teaches it, that's for sure."

She grinned. "Try telling Mum that. She agrees that Trelawney can't predict anything, but she insists that she knows _something_ about the theory of all the things."

"If you want theory, why don't you just ask Firenze?" Harry demanded. "He's easier to talk to."

She grimaced. "He makes me nervous," she admitted. "He just sits there and looks at me, and I feel like he's looking into my soul."

Harry had to admit that she had a point. "Well, since you don't have a class and I'm skiving off mine, do you want to come for a walk with me?"

She shrugged. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"We could go off on the far side of the lake," he suggested. "No one'll bother us there."

"All right." She stood up and they walked out together, side-by-side if not holding hands. They passed a few younger students, who looked at them oddly, but both ignored them. They didn't matter, not in the general scheme of the two of them.

Once they were outside the main doors, Ginny grinned at him. "Race you to the lake," she offered.

"All right," he agreed. She counted in a monotone, then took off, speeding down the grassy slope and onto the level ground. He followed after her, both slower and with less endurance. He didn't give up, though, and when she finally reached the other side of the lake, he was only a couple feet behind her. He collapsed onto the grass panting and gasping for breath. She dropped down next to him, only breathing with slight difficulty, and that might have been due to the laughs that were spluttering out of her.

"Who would think?" she managed. "The big Quidditch hero can't keep up with a _girl_!"

"Stop it!" he wheezed. "I'm not a track star, all right?"

"You'd think that even so you'd be a decent runner," she persisted.

"Well I'm not. Now you know."

"I do indeed," she agreed. "And I know how to get the best of you."

He looked at her curiously. "So when did _you_ get so good at it?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh please Harry. I grew up with six older brothers. I learned how to run early on."

"True," he admitted, remembering how he'd learned to hide and dodge very quickly. He supposed that it was the same principle.

She leaned back in the grass, gazing up at the sky. "Isn't it beautiful out here?" she asked, sighing in bliss.

He nodded, lying down next to her. They lay close together, not touching, just reveling in each other's presence. It had been a long time since they were just alone together, and Harry only just then realized how much he'd missed that.

"We need to do this more often," he said, idly running his fingers through the long grass.

"Mm-hm," she agreed absently. He turned his head to see what she was looking at. Her eyes were turned towards the sky, and she was watching as the clouds moved about their business in the slight breeze. "They look like big puffs of cotton candy," she said, not looking at him. "Dad took us to a muggle carnival when we were kids, and he bought all of us some cotton candy. If the clouds were pink, they'd look exactly the same."

"It looks like a glacier from above," Harry told her, moving a bit closer. "Like a glacier with no flaws or rocks stuck into it, just flowing away into nothingness."

She turned to look at him in surprise. "I never figured you for a poet," she said, a little playfully. "Apparently you have a new career ahead of you when your Quidditch muscles give out."

He grimaced. "Believe me, I have no talent whatsoever in poetry," he said dryly. "I was just making an observation."

"You made it very well," she said approvingly. "It made me able to visualize it perfectly."

"It's a shame Hermione's camera doesn't work here," he said, a little sadly. "She took some amazing pictures of the trip."

Ginny shrugged, an impressive feat for someone who was lying down. "She promised to send them to me eventually. Dad will go nuts over them."

Harry laughed. "I'm sure he will," he agreed. His gaze turned back to the clouds. All the talk of pictures had brought his thoughts back to Draco's drawing of him, and as he scanned the clouds he fancied he could see a slight resemblance to Draco in the whispy shapes and tendrils of clouds. He blinked hard, and when he opened his eyes again, the wind had blown the resemblance away.

"That one looks like a snitch, doesn't it?" she asked suddenly, pointing at one of the clouds as they passed overhead.

Harry squinted at the cloud in question. "A bit," he agreed. "And the one next to it's like a hand reaching out to it."

"So whose hand is it?" she asked.

He grinned. "Yours, of course."

"And where are you?"

"Watching you. See, there I am." He pointed in turn, showing a part of the cloud that had looked like Draco. It had disintegrated into a lightning bolt, and even that was slowly drifting off.

"Oh look, I've caught the snitch," she remarked, watching as the scene played out. "I wonder what you'll do."

"I'll be incredibly jealous, of course," Harry responded. The cloud that was the lightning bolt was drifting away from the snitch and the hand, as though pouting. Suddenly, the wind shifted and the lightning bold drifted back. It lost its shape and mutated into a slightly dilapidated heart.

"Looks like you've made up with me," Ginny commented, giggling.

"Looks like I have," he agreed. "You're not letting the snitch go, though."

"I don't need to," she protested. "You're kissing me anyway." The heart melded with the arm, and two round blobs formed, attached in a single spot.

Harry watched as the blobs drifted even closer, fusing with one another until they formed one round lump.

"And what's that?"

"Ron, of course," she said as though it were obvious. "He's spying on us."

"Why's he doing that?" Harry demanded.

"I don't know! Maybe he's jealous."

Harry snickered, imaging what Ron would think if he heard their conversation. "And there we are again," he said, pointing to a series of lines.

"How exactly is that us?"

"Well, one of them is a unicorn horn, and the other ones are stag antlers."

"Unicorns?"

"That's your patronus, isn't it?"

She frowned. "How do you know?"

He grinned. "I watched you last summer," he said simply. "You were practicing."

She grimaced. "I had hoped that no one saw that," she muttered.

"Why not?"

"It's a bit embarrassing to be seen shouting words in your yard, trying to eject a silver animal from your wand," Ginny said.

"It's a useful skill," he pointed out.

"Well, how did you learn it?" she demanded.

"Professor Lupin taught me."

She frowned. "Why didn't he teach me?"

"He didn't see you collapse from the dementors, I suppose."

She frowned, remembering. "He wasn't there when they came into our carriage," she muttered.

Harry looked at her questioningly, but she only shook her head. "Never mind. So what are the stag and the unicorn doing now?"

Harry looked back up at the sky. "They're shaking their heads at Ron's jealousy."

"So where's Hermione?" Ginny demanded. "Shouldn't she be with Ron?"

Harry looked over at her in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't you noticed it _yet_, Harry? Ron's got a desperate crush on Hermione."

"And does she return it?"

"How should I know? _She's_ not my brother."

"So it's a family thing, is it?"

"I live with Ron, Harry. I notice things like that."

"I suppose," he said skeptically. "So has Ron actually said anything yet?"

She snorted. "_Ron_?! I think not! If you ask him about it, he'll forcefully deny it and then ignore her completely for the next several days just to prove the point. It's in all of our best interests not to ask."

"I see."

He shifted so that he was lying on his side, looking at her straight on. "And what about you?" he whispered. "Is it in our best interests not to ask you?"

She rolled over so that she was facing him. Her brown eyes gazed into his green ones, and the depth of feeling he saw in them gave him all the answer he needed. He reached out and touched her; his fingers ran feather-light down her face and under her chin, tracing her jaw. She shivered and pressed a little closer. Her hands reached up and caressed his hair, her fingers slipping through it as easily as they did her own. He bent over her and pressed a light kiss to her mouth. She caught him, and deepened the kiss. They lay there for a long time, not speaking, not even really exploring, just basking in each other's presence and wondering how anything could ever change.

* * *

Hermione couldn't wait. It was the first day of the advanced class, and she was looking forwards to it immensely. Ron had not understood her eagerness at dinner, and he'd rolled his eyes as she bolted her food. "Why are you so happy to take more classes with _Snape_?" he demanded.

"It's not Snape," she retorted. "I'm looking forwards to being with people who have a higher intellectual level than what it takes to discuss Quidditch."

Ron looked hurt. "I can do more than that!" he protested. "I'm taking NEWT level classes, aren't I?"

"Only because you read all of my notes," Hermione told him.

"Cut it out," Harry said wearily.

"She's mental!" Ron protested. "She _wants_ to take more classes!"

"Haven't you been her friend long enough to realize that yet?" Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione. "Please don't give us the gory details, though. I'm sick of Snape, and I don't really want to hear more about him than I have to."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "Lavender thinks that he's good looking."

Ron choked on a piece of chicken. "She _what_?!"

"Thinks that he could be pretty good looking if he actually bothered to take care of himself," she clarified. She carefully didn't mention the shot of jealousy that had coursed up through her at Lavender's words.

"I always knew that girls were insane," Ron told Harry when he'd swallowed.

"Thank you so much," Hermione said dryly. She glanced at her watch, and stood. "I'll see you boys in the common room," she said, leaving the table with her book bag.

She walked down the deserted hallways that led to the dungeons, thinking, as she always did when she walked this way, that she should definitely have found someone attainable to fall in love with. Not that she was in love with Snape! Of course she wasn't in love with Snape! The entire idea was absurd! But… but there _was_ the small thrills of pleasure that coursed down her whenever he looked at her, and the warm feeling that filled her whenever he refrained from insulting her work.

She very firmly shoved all those thoughts back where they'd come from. Still, it took a moment for her to get up the nerve to push the door to the classroom open. There was no one inside. She let out her breath, then moved to her desk at the front of the room. She dropped her book bag onto it, and looked around. There were only seven desks, arranged in a half circle around Snape's desk. All the other desks had been pushed to the back of the room, creating a space to walk between them. A series of ingredients was arranged on Snape's desk. She looked at them curiously, moving closer to examine them. She knew most of them, but there were two that she didn't recognize: a gray stone-like thing, and a yellow blob. She bent down to examine the stone more closely, and stretched out a hand to touch it.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Miss Granger?"

She jumped, and snatched her hand back. She turned, and realized that he was standing right behind her. "I was just… looking at the ingredients, Professor," she faltered, wishing that she could manage to string together an entire sentence without sounding like an idiot.

"It did not look like looking to me, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for carelessness. Do you even know what this is?"

She shook her head.

"It's a Moragan."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. 'He won't tell me unless I ask,' she realized in annoyance. She waited for a little longer, then gave up. "What's a Moragan, Professor?"

"A Moragan, as you should have known, Miss Granger, is more commonly known as a Death Stone. It is found only in Southern Africa and Australia, and the natives there have known of it for generations. Properly prepared, it is an invaluable ingredient in many healing potions, but when amateurs use it wrongly, it turns the potion into a poison with no known cure."

Hermione nodded. She'd known what it was from the moment he used its more common name, but she still enjoyed hearing it from him. She liked the way he imparted the information without any ceremony whatsoever, stating that it was easily used to kill people with no emotion. She was about to ask about the yellow blob, but the door opened again and Terry Boot entered. She knew that Snape wouldn't tell her anything when someone else was in the room, so she thanked him and went back to her seat. She and Terry smiled shyly at each other as he carefully put his books on his desk. She didn't know Terry that well, but they were in all of the nonessential classes together, and she knew that he was brilliant. It didn't surprise her at all that he was here. Gradually, the other students trickled in. Though the class had been advertised as for sixth and seventh years, no seventh years had taken it. Hermione was a bit surprised, but she supposed that they were too busy with their NEWT revision to be able to take extracurricular classes. Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst walked in together. Mandy went to sit with Terry, but Padma looked shyly at Hermione. Hermione moved her books over to her own side of the desk, and Padma slipped in. The two girls grinned at each other. "I knew that you'd be here," Padma said.

"Ron and Harry don't get it," Hermione said. "They think I'm insane."

Padma rolled her eyes. "I don't see why you spend so much time with them."

Hermione sighed. "Neither does your sister," she said.

"For entirely different reasons, I'm sure," Padma said. "I was alluding to intellectual quality, not physical."

Hermione laughed. "Harry can be smart when he wants to, but he doesn't care. Ron… well, it's a good thing that he doesn't want to be a straight O student."

Padma nodded. "I see your meaning entirely," she said.

They quieted then, because Snape had looked up. His glare did that to people. Just as he was about to begin speaking, the door opened yet again, and Draco Malfoy strode in. He didn't even look at Snape, just sat down on the desk farthest away from the door, three desks away from Susan Bones and Zacharias Smith. Snape didn't comment on his lateness, only continued to glare at the students assembled in front of him. Finally, he spoke. "You are in this class for two reasons. Some of you," here he looked at Hermione "are here because you are insufferable know-it-alls and you cannot pass up an academic challenge." Hermione traded glances with Padma and Terry. "The rest of you," Snape continued, "wish to gather experience and put harder courses on your resumes." Here, he paused, allowing the words to sink in. No one made a sound. "This is not an easy course. It deals with things that many adult wizards do not know. I will not tolerate failure, and so if any of you slip even a little, you will promptly be evicted from this classroom." He paused again. No one moved. "Because of the difficulty level of this course, I expect each of you to have a partner. As we are an odd number, there will be one person who will have no partner." No one looked, but everyone knew that Malfoy would be working alone. No one would volunteer to be _his_ partner! "Your partners will be assigned. I have created a level assessment, which I expect each of you to finish by the end of the hour. You will be given your partners when we meet again. Begin."

A thick sheet of paper materialized in front of Hermione. She looked at it, then uncorked her inkbottle and read the first question: _Describe the properties of a Moragan_. She glanced up at the object in question in surprise. Surely Snape had known that the question would be on the test! Why had he explained it to her? She shook her head, realizing that she was behind, and dipped her quill into the ink, bending her head to write.

* * *

Severus watched as the students wrote feverishly. He'd known when he assigned the test that most of them would fail it, but he couldn't resist finding out just what he was dealing with. Besides, it would do them good to learn right away that he would not tolerate failure. It was one thing to be told the consequences of failure, and quite another to be kicked out of a class for a bad grade. He wondered how many he would have left at the end of the year. He was impressed by the number who'd signed up. Usually there were about five at the beginning, and anywhere from three to none at all by June. He suspected that, this time, he would have at least a few left. Miss Granger certainly wouldn't think of dropping out, and if Draco didn't stick with it the entire year, Severus would be highly disappointed. Some of the others, though…

He collected their tests at the end of the hour and sent them on their way, ignoring the barely concealed sighs of relief. He was used to them. He seated himself at his desk, pushing the other papers into a tidy stack out of the way. He placed the new tests in front of himself and opened the first one. It just happened to be Draco's and he read it, frowning every so often. He hadn't expected Draco in his class, though he was glad the boy had come, and he was struggling with the proper person to pair him with. It was plain that everyone, including Draco himself, expected him to be the odd one out. Severus wasn't sure why the idea made him uneasy, but he'd learned to trust his instincts over the years. They were telling him now not to put Draco alone.

He finished with Draco's test and put it aside. He hadn't done splendidly, but his score was acceptable. As though fate had been trying to send him a message, Miss Granger's test was next. Severus hardly glanced at it, knowing that she would have answered every question correctly. Sure enough, all he found to mark off were a couple slightly incomplete answers. He frowned as he put her test aside. Miss Granger certainly was a puzzle. She seemed to be the usual, head in the clouds scholarly type that Hogwarts saw every few years. But Severus knew from watching her that there was more to her than that. Miss Granger could be passionate about many things, and he'd even seen her flushed with triumph and splattered with the blood of her enemies. That vision of her, gasping for breath in the middle of the department of mysteries, her wand out and her hair a wild mess of brown snarls was one that he'd dreamed about for weeks. She'd had a _life_ to her in that moment, and it had caused Severus to revise five years of opinions on her.

He frowned, thinking his idea over. True, she and Draco _were_ almost sworn enemies, but surely it couldn't do any harm to force them to get along. Miss Granger was not Potter, after all, and there was little chance that she and Draco would ever even become friends. At most they would learn to respect each other and possible even get along outside the class setting. Severus, who'd learned firsthand the consequences of allowing schoolboy rivalries to dictate his life choices, knew just how dangerous it could be. Perhaps giving the two of them this chance to work together would be one of the smarter decisions of his career.

Of course, his choices would affect the entire class. There were others who could profit from working with either one of the two. The question was whether they would benefit more. Severus sighed, and stood. He walked over to the fireplace and poured himself a cup of industrial-strength tea. No one but him drank the stuff, but he always insisted on having it. He claimed that it kept him awake and functioning, but the honest truth was that he truly didliked it. It could burn the roof off your mouth if you weren't careful, but he'd learned to be careful.

As he digested the first cup and poured himself a second one, his mind wandered back to the situation in the advanced class. With the liquid running through his veins (or at least, working its way there) he found that he could think slightly more clearly than he had been. Or maybe he'd just been tired. In either case, his mind turned over the variables with ease. By the time he'd consumed the second cup, he was reasonably sure that his decision was the most profitable in all possible cases. Just to be sure, of course, he would have to grade all the other tests and think for far longer, but he was fairly sure that he had his most difficult pairing figured out.


	9. 4: friendship 2

_Author's note: Please note that, when we wrote this, we were intending to thread in some Hermione/Snape. It didn't go quite as planned, and we were too lazy to try and edit it all out. This story really does need some severe editing by someone who doesn't like it as much as we do...  
Disclaimer: Yes, I am JK Rowling. Honestly! I'm sitting here writing fanfiction for the story I made far too much money from, putting these out for free instead of making yet more money. Right. That makes sense, doesn't it?  
--Tamara_

* * *

I was on time for the next extra class. Professor Snape hadn't said anything last time, but I knew that being late again would not be tolerated. I wasn't first, but only Granger was there before me. She didn't look at me, completely absorbed in the ingredients on Professor Snape's desk. I glanced at them, saw nothing that I couldn't identify, and sighed slightly. The class had sounded interesting on paper, but if we weren't going to be using anything that I wasn't familiar with, there would be no point in continuing to take it. I supposed that it was only the second class, though. If we were going to use advanced ingredients, we'd probably start a little later on. I hoped we got there soon. Granger looked around, having finished looking at the ingredients, and her eyes met mine. I glared, and she looked away.

The rest of the class filed in soon after. The Ravenclaw Patil sat next to Granger again, and the two began to talk quietly. Once again, I was the only one with no desk mate, but I supposed that it didn't matter. I wouldn't have consented to sit with anyone other than a Slytherin anyway, so the fact that there were an odd number of students didn't matter. I knew that I would be the odd one out when it came to pairings, as well. I am very skilled at ignoring the little voice in my head that tells me that I'm secretly jealous of the others for having more friends. I _do _have friends, after all.

Professor Snape stalked into the classroom moments later, and everyone shut up. He was scowling horribly, and I felt sorry for whomever it was who'd gotten the lowest score on the assessment. It never even occurred to me that I would be that person. Without preamble, he sent the tests flying back to their owners. I caught mine, and looked at it. I'd finished, and I thought that I'd done fairly well. By his standards, at least. I flipped to the last page, noting the answers that he'd circled, and looked at my grade. E. Not bad at all, but not as well as I'd hoped. I told myself that I shouldn't have expected an O from Professor Snape, but I was still disappointed. I wondered what Granger had gotten, and hoped that it wasn't an O. That would be just too much. After giving everyone thirty seconds to absorb their scores, Professor Snape said, "I was quite disappointed with the scores. I had expected much more from this class. All of you will do better next time, or you will be removed from my class. _Do I make myself clear_?"

Everyone nodded, and he scowled even more. "As I stated last class, you will be paired up. The pairings are on the board." He waved his wand, and the chalk lifted and began to write quickly in his practically illegible scrawl. "You will move to sit with your partners without making any undo noise."

I strained to read what the board said, though I didn't expect anything to apply to me. The chalk got to my name… and kept writing after it! I frowned, and wondered if I was imagining the name I saw appearing next to my own. A quick glance across the classroom showed me that I wasn't. With a scowl, Granger scooped up her books and dropped them next to me. She turned her back, and looked across the rest of the room. Patil gave her a pained look, and Granger returned it. Patil herself was paired with Bones. Smith ended up next to Brocklehurst, and Boot was the one left partnerless. This didn't appear to disturb him, and he spread his books out across the entire desk area. Professor Snape gave us two more seconds, then said, "These assignments are final. There will be no changing, and if you do not agree with my choice, you will leave this classroom immediately." No one moved, not even Granger.

"I expect all of you to know what is on my desk. Smith, what is this?" He pointed to what I recognized as being a Diricawl egg.

Smith looked at it carefully, then looked down. "I don't know, sir," he said quietly.

Professor Snape sniffed. "Malfoy?"

I grinned at Smith nastily. "It's a Diricawl egg, Professor."

He turned on Boot. "Uses?"

Boot quietly recited the uses of the egg, sounding exactly like Granger would have if she'd been asked and, oddly enough, the book with the description inside. I'd read that book too.

He continued to quiz the students randomly, until all of us had answered several questions. Smith knew the rest of the answers, but we all knew that he would be writing at least one essay to be handed in for the next class.

When he'd finished testing us, Professor Snape instructed us to open our books. We did so, and found the recipe for Veritaserum. All at once, I realized that the class would be worthwhile after all. My father couldn't even make that! I scanned the recipe, and noted the rare ingredients. Not something that one could make at home, then. And it needed two people to make properly. I sighed. "Get the ingredients, Granger," I snapped. She looked like she was about to argue, but glanced over at Professor Snape and shut her mouth. She rose and walked over to the supply cupboard, while I lit the fire and set my cauldron on the stand above it. She returned with the needed items, and pushed half of them over to me. In silence, we prepared what we needed, and began to place them in the cauldron. It was already half full of boiling water, and Granger dropped the sliced Diricawl eggs in one at a time, allowing each piece to disintegrate before putting the next in.

It got trickier when we got to the two person parts, though. I could see that she thought that she'd have to demand that I stir, and I grinned mentally. I do so love surprising people. I picked up the stick and placed it in the light yellow liquid without being asked. Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn't comment, sprinkling the powdered moonstone into the potion as I stirred. She took over the stirring, matching my cadence perfectly as I raised the temperature of the fire. She continued to stir, not missing or faltering for the next three minutes. I continued for the next three, and so on, until we'd reached the proscribed fifteen. I was amazed at the ease with which we worked together, though neither of us uttered a word. We seemed to know exactly what the other needed, and we did it without waiting to be told. It was an odd sensation, almost like with a twin… or a lover. I quickly banished that thought.

By the end of the class, our potion was the most advanced. Professor Snape looked at it briefly, then nodded. He didn't assign any points to me, but he didn't take any away from Granger either, so I supposed that it was a decent potion. I gathered up my books and closed my copy of _Advanced Magic for the Overachieving Wizard_ and left the class. I didn't wait for Granger, but I realized that she might actually be a tolerable partner after all. I supposed that Professor Snape had known that when he assigned the pairings.

* * *

Blaise was waiting for me at the entrance of the common room. We spoke the password, and stepped through the resulting door together. "Where's Pansy?" I asked as the wall reformed behind us.

"She's studying," Blaise said, grimacing.

I raised an eyebrow. "Studying? Has she been corrupted?"

He shrugged. "No idea. She swears that she's going to beat Granger in the next Transfiguration exam."

I rolled my eyes. "She's going to cheat?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it."

"Then she doesn't stand a chance."

"And why ever not?"

"Because Granger is frighteningly brilliant, Pansy," I replied, without turning to look at her. "And if you try to beat her, you'll give up your social life completely."

"You're defending her?" she asked, mockingly. "Who would have thought?"

"I'm not defending her," I said. "I'm stating a fact. I think that the Patil twins are pretty, too. Doesn't mean that I like them."

She pouted. "Prettier than _me_?" she asked, looking up at me with a sickeningly over romantic look.

"Very much so," I said, grimacing. "Are you going to let us in?"

"Say you didn't mean it," she retorted. "Or just go to your own room."

I sighed. "I swear on any deity that you choose to swear on that I did not mean whatever it was that I said that insulted you. There, does that work?"

She rolled her eyes. "I won't get anything better out of you, will I?" she asked.

I shook my head, and she stood aside to let the two of us in. I dropped into one of the chairs. Blaise took the other, and Pansy lounged on her bed.

"So how did the class go?" Blaise asked.

I made a face. "They partnered me with the wonder mudblood."

Pansy snorted. "And? This when you realized that she was brilliant?"

I shook my head. "This was when I discovered that, unlike most people, she knows how to read directions." This comment was directed straight at Pansy, who'd spent two days in the Hospital Wing for failing to read the instructions on her latest tube of trial cosmetics.

She knew it, too, and shot me a dirty look. I saw her fingers creep towards her wand, and shook my head warningly. "Don't," I advised. "I'm faster than you are."

"Stop it," Blaise said. "Professor Snape won't appreciate knowing that his two sixth year prefects got into a duel."

Both of us sighed, but we removed our hands from our wands anyway.

"What are you doing over Christmas?" Pansy asked Blaise, reaching over and snagging a hairbrush from her bedside table.

Blaise shrugged. "Not much," he admitted. "I think I'll stay here and get caught up on schoolwork."

He ducked the pillow that she threw at him. "What about _me_?" she demanded.

"If you'll let me," he replied, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

I could sense romance coming on, and I grimaced. "If you two are going to go all soppy," I informed them, "I will leave. Just tell me when."

Pansy fluttered her eyelashes. "You mean you don't want to watch?"

"Most certainly not!" I said emphatically. I stood, straightening my robes. "I'll be in my study if either of you have any urgent need of me." I swept out of her room and crossed the common room. The whispers hadn't died down about me yet, but I was finding them easier and easier to ignore. I muttered my password under my breath, and closed the door to my study behind me.

The house elf had been there, and I found that my pictures had been moved. Muttering obscenities, I rearranged them into order of importance, not chorological order, like the House Elf wanted so badly. I deliberately ignored the blank space where my father had been in the family pictures. He'd walked out of the frames years ago, and I didn't miss him.

As I sat down in the green chair, I wondered for the first time just what I would do over Christmas. If the scene I'd just witnessed was any judge, both Pansy and Blaise would leave, probably for his house. Blaise's parents were rarely home and, unlike Pansy's paranoid family, they didn't really care what their son did. I wondered if it bothered him that they cared so little, but there was no way I was going to ask. If Blaise wanted to give me details on his personal and family life, he would do so.

But, whether they left or not, I would not be invited. I didn't even want to be invited. Sugary romance sickens me, and, though I refuse to admit it except at times like this, it makes me just the slightest bit jealous. I don't think I'd mind if Harry said the things Pansy says to Blaise to me! But, as I am so very well aware, that is not likely to ever happen. Harry is obsessed with the Weasley girl, and then there was Chang last year. It's quite obvious where his tastes lie, and they're not in the same direction as mine. At least he consents to speak to me now.

As usual, I buried all thoughts of what I wanted with Harry under layers of self-denial and sarcasm. I know how to control my emotions, and I fight very hard to do so.

* * *

Hermione was determined not to let Malfoy ruin the experience for her. She'd taken the course because she was interested in learning more than what was usually taught in classes, and she wanted to keep it that way. Granted, it wasn't under ideal circumstances, but she would survive. He'd even been reasonably helpful when they were making the Veritaserum and he was capable of reading the instructions without her help and he knew what he needed to do. She could have done worse. Or at least, that was what she told herself.

It wasn't until the fourth class that Professor Snape announced the projects. As was usual, he chose the very end of the class to announce that all of them were expected to have come up with a topic for their end-of-year projects by the next time they met. That meant, of course, that she and Malfoy would have to get together before then. A glance in his direction made it obvious that he was looking forward to it about as much as she was.

"Write down any ideas," he snapped. "Pass them on to Potter and I'll get them."

She nodded. "Do the same," she ordered. "Though you do realize that we will have to talk eventually."

He shrugged. "Eventually. Pass the ideas on tomorrow." He gathered up his things and stormed out of the classroom.

Hermione did the same, though she walked far more slowly than he had, and Padma slowed to keep up with her. "What do you think of Snape's big plan?"

Hermione grimaced. "It would have been nice if he'd told us at the _beginning_ of class! As it is…" she allowed the sentence to trail off, trusting Padma to catch her meaning.

Padma grimaced back, showing that she understood perfectly. "So how much will you actually have to communicate?"

Hermione sighed. "Hopefully not at all. Harry's agreed, as far as I can tell, to act as a go-between, and, if all goes well, then he will do all of the talking."

Padma looked skeptical. "Can you really do a project without talking?"

"No. I can always hope, though."

Padma laughed. "You can," she agreed. "So do you have any ideas yet?"

Hermione shrugged. "No," she admitted. "I suppose I will before tomorrow, though. At the moment, all I want to do is have a _very_ long bath in water as hot as I can stand."

"Hard day?"

"You have no idea," Hermione said dryly. They parted company then, each going to her own common room. Hermione stayed in her dormitory only long enough to drop her books off, then did as she'd dreamed of doing and walked towards the prefect's bath. After passing through the hidden door, she dropped her clothes on the floor. They flew up by themselves, folding neatly and dropping into a pile next to the as yet empty bath. Hermione shivered as the cool air hit her newly naked body, and hurriedly turned on the water. As the bath filled, she slowly began to stretch the cramps out of her neck and arms. She groaned, half in pain and half in bliss as the pain began to crawl up her limbs. She dropped into the water, sighing in ecstasy as the water eased the residual cramps from her muscles. The water shut off automatically, and she abandoned herself to the bliss of allowing herself to mutate into a human raisin.

She didn't know how long she soaked in the bath. The water didn't appear to be cooling off any, and she could as easily have stayed there anywhere from three to six hours. Finally, though, she realized that it was way past curfew. Reluctantly, she let out the water and dried herself off with the towels that were placed around the pool. She looked at her dirty clothes with distaste. She had no desire to put on the soiled garments, but she couldn't go around naked. With a sigh, she pulled her uniform on, then her robes, vowing to drop all of them into the laundry as soon as she got back to the dormitory. Longingly, she thought of the days at her own home in the summer when she could slip completely unclothed between the clean sheets.

She shook her head, dismissing the idea. There was no way that she could do that here, what with sharing a room with two other girls. She wished yet again that she had a private study like the Slytherins. Why did _they_ get all the good stuff?

Rather predictably, she bumped straight into Professor Snape the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. He snarled at her, and she suddenly remembered her musings of a moment ago. The thought of herself and Professor Snape _en dishabille_ came to her unbidden, and she blushed a deep scarlet. Snape's expression didn't change.

"Need I point out that it is after curfew, Miss Granger?" he asked icily.

"No, Professor."

"Then what are you doing in the hallway?"

"Returning to Gryffindor Tower, sir."

He looked at her for a very long moment, as though trying to see the lie in her posture. She blushed harder under the scrutiny, and wondered if he could see in the dim light. The way his lips curled into a disdainful sneer said that he probably could. He didn't comment on it, though, only telling her, "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip in hope. Was that all he was going to do to her? No detention? It was too good to be true.

"Have you and Mr. Malfoy decided on a topic for your project?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione blinked. She hadn't been expecting that, and it took a moment for her mind to realize what he was talking about. "No," she managed finally. "No, we're going to discuss it tomorrow."

He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "And tomorrow, I suppose that you will come up with some excuse to speak the day after. And so on."

Hermione couldn't deny it.

"Miss Granger, are you quite stupid?" he burst out suddenly.

She blinked, taken aback. Then, she processed what he'd actually said, and felt herself getting angry. "What do you mean, Sir?" she asked, grinding out the last word more out of habit than actual respect.

"You are taking a gift and throwing it away with your petty house squabbles," he seethed.

She waited for him to continue, biting her tongue nearly in two to stop herself from retaliating with something equally cutting. That would only result in yet more house points lost and probably a detention as well.

"Mr. Malfoy is a highly capable wizard, and he would be an exceptional partner, if you would allow him to," Snape told her, in a highly patronizing voice, that managed to slip in rather a lot of venom.

"It's not my fault," Hermione burst out, unable to stop herself. The moment the words were out of her lips, she realized that she sounded just like the petulant child that he'd implied with his tone. She ground her teeth together in frustration. None of the _other_ teachers did this to her! Why did Snape make her lose her wits completely?

"Is it not?" he demanded. "I do not see you attempting to breach the gap."

"He's made it quite plain that he wants nothing to do with me," Hermione said stiffly, wondering just how many house points she was losing. She supposed that, given Professor McGonagall's earlier point-taking spree, she was just finishing the job of making sure that Gryffindor wasn't even in the running for the House Cup.

Snape's face had gone tight with highly controlled fury. His deep, expressionless black eyes bored into her frightened brown ones, and she felt the full power of his anger. She shrank back, wishing that she could just fall through the floor.

"Mr. Malfoy has grown up believing that he must emulate his father in every way," Snape said icily. "Unless he is taught differently, he will indeed become precisely like that man. Unless you wish for an extremely powerful opponent, one who knows you and your little friends well enough to be able to identify each and every weakness, you will make it to his advantage not to turn into his father."

Hermione was left speechless. Snape glared more at her, then added, "Ten points from Gryffindor." He turned and strode away. Without turning back, he added, "No one has yet succeeded in reproducing Nicholas Flamel's more obscure work."

Hermione watched him go, thunderstruck. What kind of man _was_ he, to deliver such a crushing insult in one breath, and then give her suggestions with the next. Did he…? Then she shook herself. Hard. He was worried about Malfoy. He wanted Malfoy to get a good grade. She was only a necessary irritation. But he _had _talked to her, and, though he'd been nasty and cruel about it, he'd given her a perfect research topic.

She walked slowly back to the Gryffindor common room, sill in a daze. She spoke the password without realizing it, and passed through the portrait hole. She climbed the stairs to the dormitory, undressed, pulled on her nightgown, and fell into bed. She dreamed of deep black eyes and billowing robes. The next morning, she disappeared into the library to research Nicholas Flamel.

* * *

Harry slipped me a note at the beginning of Transfiguration. I spread it out inside my textbook, hiding it as well as I could. I suspect that one of the girls, Brown, perhaps, could have done a much better job than me, but I don't have years of practice of hiding notes in class; I did what I could. As I listened to McGonagall lecture with half an ear, I unfolded Granger's note and began to read. As I got farther and farther into the note, I felt my eyebrows rising up steadily higher until they vanished behind my hairline. _This_ was certainly unexpected. I wondered just who she'd been talking to.

Granger's ideas were about poisons. She mentioned Nicholas Flamel, but I had had no idea that Flamel had done anything but work on the Philosopher's Stone. Apparently I had been wrong. The project that she'd outlined in her small, meticulous handwriting detailed all of the known muggle chemical poisonous compounds, as well as the wizarding ones. What she suggested was to combine them and come up with something both deadly and unnoticeable. I wondered where she'd gotten the guts to suggest it. If she was willing to do it, though, I was more than willing to go through with it. It sounded quite fascinating, actually.

Granger waited with Harry as the rest of the class filed out. McGonagall gave her a sharp look, but Granger murmured a few words, and the Transfiguration teacher swept out without saying a word. Finally, it was just the three of us. The atmosphere was rather tense, and I wondered just how long Granger would intrude. I wanted time to talk with Harry, and I knew perfectly well that neither one of us would allow ourselves to relax while Granger was here.

"I take it you got the note," she said finally, probably more to break the silence than anything else. She knew perfectly well that I'd gotten and read it.

"Yes."

She waited, obviously expecting me to continue. When I didn't say anything, she prompted. "And?"

"If you have the courage to go through with it, Granger, then I will be available to assist you."

"That's not good enough," she snapped. "If we're going to do this, then you have to be willing to do your part. _All_ of your part."

I sighed. "As I said, if you are brave enough to go all the way, then I will do what is required of me."

"And just what do you mean, 'all the way'?" she demanded.

I raised an ironic eyebrow. "Do you not intend to try it out?"

She turned pale. "Certainly not!"

"Then what is the point of even attempting?"

"Scholarly curiosity," she said, but her voice sounded a little weak. I wondered just how much she'd thought through this.

I shrugged. "If you discover your mixture, Granger, then someone else will use it. That is the way of the world."

"I don't have to accept that," she whispered fiercely.

I looked at her witheringly. "Do you think that you will have a _choice_ in the matter? If you discover it, then people will learn, and the mixture will be used. If you aren't willing to face the consequences, then I suggest that you find a different topic."

Her face took on a determined aspect. "I'm not going to give up," she said, and her voice had regained some strength. "You can help me or not, that's up to you. But I intend to learn about this."

I shrugged. "Then I will do what is required. Will you leave now?"

She scowled fiercely. "Are you going to make _me_ do all the work or not?" she snapped. "Because I won't!"

"Working with Weasley all these years, you would think that you were used to doing someone else's work," I pointed out.

"I don't do Ron's homework for him, and I certainly won't do _yours_!" she seethed. I thought that she would supplement that with an obscure threat, but she was smart enough to realize how little effect it would have.

I didn't answer her. Her face started to turn slightly red with anger, and I wondered if she was going to punch me again. It had _hurt_! "You will do your half of the work," she said lividly, "or I will personally see to it that you receive the worst grade in the class, Slytherin or not."

I raised an eyebrow. "And just how do you intend to do that?" I asked lazily.

She glared at me, and her right hand flew towards her wand. "There are ways," she informed me. "So, will you do it, or will I have to get you kicked out of the class?"

I sighed melodramatically. "I'll work."

"Good." Her hand moved back to her stack of books.

"So will you leave us alone now?" I demanded.

She nodded, whirled, and walked stiffly out of the classroom. Both Harry and I watched her go. When she'd slammed the door shut, Harry asked me, "So what was that all about?"

I shrugged. "You heard it as well as I did," I pointed out.

"Yes, but what was the point of all the stubbornness? You could just have told her you'd do the work."

"I did," I reminded him. "She just refused to listen."

He sighed. "Go easy on her, will you?"

"Why?" I demanded. "No one else will."

"Because she's not used to people like you."

"And you are?"

He shrugged. "Having grown up around my cousin, I'd have to say that I can take more than a bit of sarcasm."

"Everyone needs to learn to take it eventually," I pointed out.

"Eventually," he agreed. "But it's easier to be introduced into it gently."

I sighed, but didn't argue. I would do it, for his sake. I thought that he was doing her a disservice, as well as underestimating her capacity for taking abuse, but I chose not to mention that. Instead, I shrugged my acquiescence and turned to my Literature essay. I wrote for a while, then looked up to find him staring out the window into seemingly empty space. I was suddenly, unstoppably reminded of that detention so long ago. The one where he'd completely gone insane and started screaming his head off. I'd wondered about that for a while now, and I was gripped with an irresistible desire to know the truth. I took a deep breath.

"Harry?" I asked hesitantly, wondering for a moment just why I thought that I was brave enough to ask this question.

"Yes?"

"What were you so mad about? You know, before?"

He frowned, then seemed to realize what I was talking about. His face stilled, and I wished that I could bite back the question. I didn't want to see him hurt, and I knew that answering this was going to hurt him pretty badly.

"There was a letter," he said shortly.

I didn't want to, but my mouth seemed to move without my having ordered it. "From who?"

"Lupin."

"_Professor_ Lupin?" I demanded, shocked. Why in hell's name would Harry be communicating with someone like _that_?!

Harry seemed to catch something in my voice, because he glared fiercely at me. "Lupin is one of my best friends, and I will thank you not to insult him," he said coldly. "He wrote to me about a private matter, and it does not concern you."

That hurt. That hurt pretty damn badly. I took refuge, as I suspect that he'd done, in anger. "Fine. I merely wanted to know just what it was that had made you hate me so much. If you choose not to tell me, then that's your own damn problem."

"It is," he shot back. I turned my back on him, and I heard him reach into his bag for something. I couldn't do homework, couldn't concentrate on anything but the profound unfairness of what had just happened. It wasn't _my_ fault! What right did he have to say things like that to me? I buried myself so deeply in anger that I almost forgot the bone-numbing pain that was still coursing through me. I strode over to the window, that same damn window that his owl had come through, the window that he'd just been contemplating, and curled up on the window seat. I didn't want him to come to me, yet it was the thing I wanted most in the world. I hugged my knees to my chest, trapping my pain in the small space that I couldn't help but create. It pulsed strongly, threatening to overwhelm me as it had before. But I was stronger now. I could master the pain; could stop it from taking over completely. But it was hard.

I don't know how long it took before I uncurled from the seat. Harry had gone, and a glance at my watch told me that lunch was more than half over. I'd just missed all of Herbology, and I didn't care. McGonagall might have come in, but I hadn't noticed. I didn't even know if she'd had a class. Probably. I wondered just what the younger students had thought of me, curled up as tightly as was possible, completely oblivious to any attempts to rouse me from my contemplation of the view that I couldn't even see. Who knows? Maybe they thought that I was off my rocker. And maybe I was. But I didn't care. I just knew that the damage that had just been done might very well be unfixable. I hoped to hell that it wasn't, but it might just be. Both Harry and I are proud people, and words like that hurt more coming from friends than they do coming from enemies.


	10. 5: realization 1

_Author's note: I was planning on editing this chapter some, but then I realized how much time that would take, and I decided to postpone it until a later date. _**(What she's saying is that she's lazy.)**_ No I'm not! I'm considerate. I figured we've neglected you enough, and that you would appreciate _something_. So I can't promise that it will be good, just that it will be there.  
Disclaimer: Can't you just pretend to have read a disclaimer? I'm out of creative ideas...  
--Tamara_

* * *

5: realization

Hermione had not expected the invitation to spend Christmas with Harry. She wondered at it for several days, before finally asking him. She hadn't planned on going anywhere else, but she wondered where Harry wanted to go, and why he hadn't asked Ron. His answer surprised her. "I'm going back to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione hadn't thought he ever wanted to see that place again.

"I didn't, but I have to go back someday. I can't let it keep having power over me like that. It's my home, and I intend to use it as such."

"And what about Ron?"

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. He glanced around to make sure they were alone, then said quietly, "Hermione, please don't blow up when I tell you this, okay?" She nodded, confused and suspicious. "I'm inviting someone else as well."

She blinked. That was _not _what she'd been expecting. "Who? Ginny? Why wouldn't you want Ron?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not Ginny. It's… I've invited Malfoy."

"_Malfoy_?!" she demanded, her voice rising on the name.

"Not so loud!" he hissed, glancing around again in a scared manner. "Please, Hermione!"

"But why Malfoy?" Hermione demanded, controlling her voice again.

Harry sighed. "Look, Hermione. Remember at the beginning of the year when McGonagall put both of us in detention for dueling?"

Hermione nodded. It was hard to forget.

"Well, the two of us started talking, and we've actually become pretty good friends."

Hermione looked deeply skeptical.

"It's true! At first, we shouted at each other and tried to curse each other, but after we ran out of nasty things to say, we realized that we actually had other things to talk about. I don't even remember how we really started talking, but we did, and he's a lot more interesting than you'd think. But then, well, you know what happened in October."

Hermione nodded. It had been hard to miss the blond Slytherins decent into depression, and she knew that Snape was still worried about him. She firmly put all thoughts of Snape out of her head and listened to what Harry was telling her.

"He doesn't have anywhere to go for Christmas, and, well, people aren't really very welcoming here. I invited him to come with me, but I don't actually feel comfortable enough with him to spend two weeks alone. I hope you don't mind my asking you."

Hermione's mind was a whirl of confused thoughts. She couldn't make a decision, and she knew Harry well enough to know how much he hated asking for help. He wouldn't be practically begging her to come if he didn't really need this. But could she? Could she bear to spend two weeks cooped up with Malfoy? She knew that he hated her, not only for the crime of being Muggle born, but also because she was the best in all their classes. Most people might not notice, but Hermione Granger was an acute observer of others, and she'd seen how much Malfoy resented her success. Would he agree to spending Christmas with her?

"Have you asked Malfoy if _I_ could come?" she asked Harry.

"Not yet," he admitted. "I wanted to make sure that you could before I did."

"What if he says no?"

"Then none of us will go. Hermione, you're one of my best friends. I'm not just going to abandon you."

She smiled her thanks, then took a deep breath. If he was willing to stand the whispers and rumors about him that thrived everywhere for her sake, then she should be able to endure one snotty Slytherin for his. "I'll ask my parents if I can go," she promised. The look of gratitude that he gave her was almost worth it right there.

Two days later, Hermione received permission and a moderate amount of spending money. She was careful to hide it from Ron, who didn't know yet that they were leaving, and who might not take it well. She dreaded his reaction when he found out what they were planning. She slipped next to Harry in the stream of students going to class, and hissed, "I can go."

He grinned at her. "I'll tell Draco," he promised, then extracted himself to go talk with Ron. Hermione didn't realize what has been strange about that last reply until she was almost to Arithmancy. Harry had used Malfoy's first name: they were obviously more than just casual friends.

* * *

Harry had thought long and hard about the invitation. On the one hand, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to talk to Draco again. Things had been said that were irreversible as well as uncalled for and unacceptable. He didn't know if Draco could forgive him, didn't know if he could forgive Draco, and didn't know if he really wanted either one.

But he also knew the pain of anger. He'd had to bear Ron's silence all through his fourth year, and Hermione's through the year before. He knew how much it could hurt, and he knew just how few true friends Draco actually had. Would he really allow what boiled down to a misunderstanding to destroy a friendship? He didn't know if he would, didn't know if he wanted it to, and didn't know why he was so suddenly insecure. If it had been with Ron or Hermione, he would have given them a couple days to cool off, then had a long conversation that would end with both sides apologizing and being friends again. Could he take that route with Draco as well? Maybe…

Of course, there was always the option that Draco would refuse to start the friendship again. Harry knew from experience just how proud the blond Slytherin was, and Harry had basically slammed a door in his face. Harry tried to tell himself that it was all Draco's fault in the first place, but, with his anger mostly spent, he could see that he'd overreacted and that there was no way Draco could have known. The anger that was left was yelling rather loudly that Draco hadn't had to insult Lupin, but even that made sense. If Harry had known that Lupin was a werewolf without knowing of his connection with his father and Sirius, he might have felt the same way. Even so…

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. All the thinking and turning things over in his mind was giving him migraines, and he was getting seriously tired of indecision. He considered himself fairly decisive, and this inability to come to a decision was scaring him. Obviously, he and Draco needed time to get to know each other, but could he stand to be in the same house together? Because it was quite plain that they would have to go somewhere away from Hogwarts. It was impossible to talk properly here, and they had to talk. But where?

He was stalling, he knew. There was only one place that they could go to be alone, after all. But could he bear it? Could he bear to spend three weeks there, especially when some of his memories were of Sirius there over Christmas? But he had to. He had no choice. He couldn't allow the place to conquer him. It was legally his, and he couldn't just leave it to Kreacher. It was the ideal solution, after all. Well, it was as ideal as was possible.

He slipped Draco a note in Potions the day he finally made up his mind. He didn't look at Draco's expression, and he hoped that it was one of gladness. They hadn't spoken since that day, and Harry had gone out of his way to avoid contact with the blond teenager. That was why he'd written the note: he couldn't bring himself to actually offer verbally. His fear of being rejected prevented his doing it properly. He hoped that Draco would understand.

He couldn't pay any attention in class, and it was only the fact that Hermione realized this and did all the work herself that made them scrape a passing grade. Harry expected her to reprimand him for not paying attention, and he was surprised when she only smiled at him encouragingly. He wondered just how much she knew. Not, of course, that there was anything to know. He and Draco were friends, that was all. Best friends, true, but still only friends. Or at least, that was what Harry told himself.

As Draco swept out of the class, Harry felt a ball of parchment transfer from the other boy's hand into his own. Snape eyed Draco sharply, but didn't stop him. Harry gathered up his things and left as well, waiting until he'd exited from the stream of traffic to uncrumple the note and read the words written on it.

_I would be delighted. Plans will be made during detention._

Harry crumpled the paper back up, and steadfastly ignored the warmth that was rising through him at the sight of Draco's handwriting.

* * *

As Hermione had feared, Ron had not taken the news of their departure well. She'd felt that it was necessary for her to be with Harry as he told Ron, offering her friend moral support, but she wished she could have avoided the argument. She liked both boys a lot, and she hated to see them angry at each other. But both Ron and Harry were proud and stubborn, and neither would back down. Harry avoided mentioning the reason that Ron couldn't come, and that just angered Ron more. Hermione didn't know which would have been worse: allowing Ron to know who the third person was, or making Ron feel like Harry wasn't friends with him anymore. Whichever it was, both were dauntingly unpleasant prospects.

Harry had left the dormitory in an angry silence, and Ron had pointedly turned his back on both of them. At the door leading out into the common room, Harry turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said quietly. "I know he's your friend."

"He's your friend too, Harry," Hermione reminded him.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I hope so. I really do hope so." He walked out through the door and deposited himself in a red plush armchair, and Hermione knew that he wouldn't be going back up to the dormitory. She climbed the stairs to her own, reflecting that Harry actually had very few true friends. She hoped that Malfoy was as good a friend as Harry insisted he was, because Hermione knew how much the loss of friends hurt Harry.

She pushed open the door to her dormitory, finding both Lavender and Parvati already there. Lavender was reading some anonymous fashion magazine, and Parvati was applying some equally anonymous colored substance onto her nails. She looked up when Hermione entered, then carefully corked the bottle and applied a quick drying charm to her nails. Then, she stood and tilted her head in Hermione's direction. "What's wrong, Hermione?" she asked.

Lavender lifted her head from her magazine and called out a greeting, then reimmersed herself into the world of celebrities, both Muggle and Wizarding. Hermione shot a quick glance in Lavender's direction, and Parvati chuckled. "Don't worry about Lav, Hermione. She knows how to keep her mouth shut. Now spill! What have they done to you this time?"

"They haven't done anything," Hermione said, moving over and carefully arranging her books on her bedside table.

"Well someone has," Parvati commented. "You look as though you've been run over by something large and heavy. Repeatedly."

"It's nothing, Parvati," Hermione assured her, wishing that, for once, the Indian witch would keep her nosiness in check.

"Nonsense," Parvati said briskly. She walked over and lowered herself gracefully onto Hermione's bed. "Something is wrong, and it's not healthy to keep it bottled up like this. I promise that neither of us will say _anything_ to anyone else."

Lavender reluctantly put her magazine down, carefully folding over the corner of the page she was reading (Hermione tried not to wince at that) and nodded.

When Hermione showed no sign of saying anything, Parvati sighed in impatience. "You're making this harder, Hermione," she chided. "Give me your left hand." Hermione _did_ wince at that. Parvati was firmly convinced that she had an Inner Eye, and she was inordinately fond of attempting to read their fortunes on their palms, or in the ridiculous crystal ball that she insisted on keeping on her bedside table. Hermione firmly kept her hand to herself. With an indistinguishable mutter of annoyance, Parvati reached over and physically kidnapped Hermione's hand. She held it with an iron grip, and Hermione was forced to admire the other girl's strength. Parvati examined Hermione's hand in minute detail, then put out a palm to receive the other. This time, Hermione gave it up reluctantly, but of her own free will.

Finally, Parvati looked up. There was a slight grin on her face. "You see," she informed Hermione triumphantly. "I knew that you were hiding something."

"What did you see?" Lavender asked breathlessly, leaning forward on her bed.

"They had a fight," Parvati recounted, her eyes closed. "Harry and Ron had a big fight and Hermione here witnessed it. She's worried about her friends, and she hoped that they won't fight for very long." She opened her eyes and looked at Hermione. "Am I right?"

Hermione was forced to concede that, yes, Parvati was indeed correct. She refused to believe that Parvati had seen it in her hands, though. More likely, Parvati had already known all about it from one of the younger minions that she had, and had only been waiting for the right way to inform Lavender of what she knew.

Lavender looked at Hermione pityingly. "Why do you spend so much time with them, anyway?" she asked. "You need some friends of your own, girl friends." Parvati nodded.

Hermione didn't answer. They'd already had this conversation several times, and the result was always the same. She stated flatly that she had no wish for girl friends, and Parvati managed to turn Lavender's attention back to whatever they'd been talking about. Sure enough, Parvati soon asked Lavender a question about the person on the cover of her magazine, and the two of them were once again swept away into a sea of faces and gossip. Hermione refused to admit that she was very slightly jealous.

The next day dawned blindingly bright and freezing cold. It was Hermione's last chance to pack her trunk for Christmas, and she spent the entire morning selecting what she would bring and folding it perfectly. When her trunk was halfway full of all the clothes she could think of wearing, she turned her attention to her books. Once again, she wished that she had a private room. She'd love to have her own bookshelf, not just the bedside table. There were books all over it, and many many piles surrounding it on the floor. She sorted through the piles, carefully returning all the books to their proper places when she'd gone through them, and finally selected about ten of the ones she knew that she'd absolutely need. Many of them were schoolbooks, but there was one muggle classic that she was always careful not to reveal: Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. Hermione loved Jane for her spunk and independent spirit, and she'd read the book so many times that the only reason it was still together was that she'd learned a very useful book binding spell from Madam Pince in her third year.

She lovingly put it into her trunk, then topped the container up with parchment and quills and inkbottles. As an afterthought, she slipped a blank notebook in with the rest of the books: her before New Year's resolution was to keep a journal, and holiday might be the best time to start. Then she clicked the lid of her trunk shut and preformed a series of charms that rendered it weightless and easily portable. She'd learned from experience that shrinking something did not necessarily diminish its weight, and after the first few tries, she always made sure to remember to render it weightless before trying to lift it.

She checked the clock on her bedside table, and realized that the carriages to Hogsmeade would be leaving in just under twenty minutes. She lifted her trunk, now reduced to the size and weight of an average book, and walked down the stairs to deposit it among the other reduced trunks that were haphazardly piled in front of the common room door. She saw Harry, and gave him a grin. He came over to talk with her, eyeing her trunk suspiciously. "Hermione, how much of that is things you'll actually _need_?"

"All of it!" she said, indignant. "Did you think that I'd pack things that I won't need?"

"How many book did you bring?" he asked, a smile growing on his lips.

"Ten," she admitted.

He laughed out loud at that. "And are you going to actually _read_ all ten?"

"Of course!" she retorted. "Who do you think I am, anyway?"

They both laughed at that, then sobered. "Have you talked to Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

He nodded.

"And?"

"He says that he doesn't mind, as long as he doesn't have to touch you and you don't do the cooking."

Hermione grimaced. "Tell him that I'd rather not touch him either, and that I have no intention of cooking."

"Tell him yourself," Harry said. "And I'll make Kreacher do the cooking." His voice hardened on the name, and Hermione wondered how he'd make it through the holiday without killing the House Elf.

"Harry," she began, but he cut her off.

"I know, Hermione. I know what you're going to tell me, and I don't care. I can't be nice to Kreacher, not now. He's a traitorous piece of filth, and he killed Sirius."

"Bellatrix killed Sirius."

"It was Kreacher who told her how to get him, wasn't it?" Harry's voice had been progressively rising, and he made a tremendous effort to quiet down. "I'm not going to kill Kreacher, Hermione. But I'm not going to be nice to him, either. He doesn't deserve kindness."

She knew better than to argue with him, and they spent the remaining fifteen minutes playing a spirited game of exploding snap, which he won.

When the time came to leave, both of them gathered up their trunks and entered the milling mass of students. Hermione felt Harry stiffen next to her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Ron was standing at the door to the common room, glaring at them both. When he saw Hermione, he turned away and walked pointedly up the stairs. Harry sighed deeply. Hermione wanted to comfort him, but she had no idea what to say. Instead, she asked, "How are we getting to Grimmauld Place?"

"We're taking the underground," Harry answered, looking relieved to have something else to think about. "Do you have any muggle money?" She nodded. "So do I: you can get Gringotts to change some from Galleons, and I owled them a couple weeks ago. I'm pretty sure that Draco has his own as well, but if he doesn't, I'll pay for him." She nodded.

"Have you given him access to the house? You know that only Dumbledore can let him in."

Harry dug out a piece of paper from his robes. Hermione recognized Dumbledore's spidery writing, which told the reader that number 12 Grimmauld Place was the home of Harry Potter. "Not the Order?"

He shook his head. "They're still meeting, but not there. Most of them are working, and no one really wanted to spend much time at the house. There might be a few visitors, but Dumbledore's basically told them to leave us alone over Christmas."

"Good. There are people that I'd rather not run into." Snape, she added privately, but for reasons that Harry wouldn't expect.

"I agree," he said, and she suspected that he also meant Snape. Harry's hatred of Snape hadn't diminished, and she was finding it harder and harder to put up with bad attitude. Of course, he was probably getting fed up with her hatred of Malfoy, as well. She made a mental note to remember not to keep insulting Malfoy in Harry's presence.

They streamed through the corridors to the entrance hallway, where they deposited their trunks. House Elves would load them onto the train and a porter at King's Cross would unload them. Harry and Hermione walked over to one of the carriages, and Hermione still felt a start of surprise at the sight of the Thestrals. She'd been able to see them at the beginning of the year, but she still hadn't gotten over it. They were a constant reminder that she'd witnessed atrocities last spring, and that they'd left lasting marks on her. They found themselves with Neville and Luna, both of whom were going to be spending the holidays with their respective families. Neville was asking Luna what she was going to be doing with her father, and she was explaining in great detail all about going off to India to search for some imaginary creature or other. She broke off to greet them, and Neville gave Hermione a shy smile, which she returned.

The journey to the station was uneventful. Hermione spent much of her time watching the Thestrals move. They were surprisingly graceful, for fleshless creatures, and they seemed to move in perfect synchrony with each other. She was entranced, and wondered how such beasts could have been thought of as ill omens for centuries. But then, she remembered that Wizards were even more superstitious about death than Muggles. It was only natural that the Thestrals would be misunderstood. For the first time, she realized what Hagrid saw in all of his foundlings and "harmless" pets. Not that she agreed with his choices, but she could almost understand his reasons.

At the station, Hermione looked around for Malfoy, wondering how they were going to find each other. "We're meeting at King's Cross," Harry told her, when she asked him in a low whisper. "It's better for all of us that way."

Neville and Luna, who'd come over to join them, interrupted them. Hermione had to grin inwardly at the pair. Neville, just like every other boy in their year, had shot up over the summer, and he now stood about a head taller that Luna. His down-to-Earth expression was a perfect counterpoint to Luna's head in the clouds attitude, and she had to wonder what they saw in each other. But if they'd each found a good friend, then she supposed she shouldn't complain. She wondered idly if Luna would consent to helping Neville with his homework.

They boarded the train and found an empty carriage. The four of them were soon joined by Ginny, who'd been invited to a friend's house over Christmas. She pointedly ignored Harry, who pretended not to notice, and soon struck up a conversation with Luna. Neville listened attentively, leaving Hermione free to talk with Harry. "She isn't being fair," Hermione murmured, gesturing slightly towards Ginny.

Harry shrugged. "He's her brother. She's mad at me for his sake."

"It's still not fair."

"Life is so often fair, isn't it Hermione?"

"It'd be lovely if it was, wouldn't it?"

"Fabulous. Write to me when you find the spell that does it."

"Somehow, I doubt it'll be that easy."

"It never is."

* * *

They spent the rest of the trip talking with each other and Neville and Luna. Ginny soon left to sit with her fifth year friend, and the atmosphere in the carriage became much more relaxed. Hermione despaired of convincing Luna that the Golden Bridge Creature was totally imaginary, and was forced to listen to the younger girl rattle on about how Muggles had known about them at one time, and how it was perfectly obvious if you read some of their fairy tales. Hermione, having read said fairy tales, thought that they sounded suspiciously like River Trolls. When the trolley witch came along, Harry and Neville both purchased boxes of sweets, which they passed around. Though Hermione loved most wizarding food, she would never get used to every flavor beans, or chocolate that moved. She liked her chocolate to be stationary, so that she didn't feel guilty about biting off its head.

They changed out of their robes about halfway there, with Hermione and Luna slipping into the girls' bathroom to pull their robes off and put on muggle clothing. Hermione emerged wearing a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt, and sent her robes flying into her trunk. She pulled a hair tie out of her pocket and efficiently bound her hair up, then leaned back to enjoy the view. Crookshanks, who was rather fond of jeans, curled up on her lap and went to sleep, purring loudly.

"Your cat's a Finder, isn't he?" Luna asked, looking at Crookshanks with interest.

Knowing that she would regret it even as the words left her lips, Hermione asked, "What's a Finder?"

"It's a very intelligent creature," Luna said enthusiastically. "They can take the shape of any creature that they want, and they only appear to very gifted people. People say that they only come when the country's in danger, and they will lead their chosen witch or wizard to victory."

"Sounds a bit like King Arthur," Harry remarked, looking at Crookshanks. "He will rise again, and all that. You gave him the wrong name, Hermione. You should have called him Art."

"Wart, maybe," Neville put in. "Wasn't that what Ector called Arthur when he was a kid?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't actually ever read the book," he admitted. "My cousin rented the movie, though, and I watched bits of it."

"Crookshanks isn't King Arthur," Hermione said firmly. "He's just a cat, and his name suits him very well."

Crookshanks, as though agreeing with this statement, gave an especially loud snore. Everyone laughed.

When the train pulled into King's Cross, everyone was more than willing to leave. Pleasant as the journey had been, sitting in a train for nine hours is tiring, and everyone was eager to get up and stretch their legs. Harry and Hermione collected their trunks, stuffed Crookshanks back into his traveling basket, bid Luna and Neville farewell, and got down onto platform 9 ¾. Hermione saw Malfoy get off several carriages earlier, and wondered how he would know where to go. There was only one way off the platform, though, and in the milling of students and regular travelers, Hermione supposed that they could meet up without being noticed.

Sure enough, as they passed through the barrier into the muggle world, Malfoy was next to them. He sneered expressively at the two of them, and Harry scowled back, but Hermione knew Harry well enough to realize that some sort of message had been transmitted between them. Harry paid no further attention to Malfoy, but Hermione could see that the blond Slytherin was following them, though from a safe distance.

Finally, they made their way out of King's Cross and into the outside air. It was cold and damp, and Hermione shivered, wishing she'd remembered to unpack a sweater. The train was always very warm, and she'd completely forgotten that the outside world did not benefit from heating spells. Malfoy, who was wearing a black cashmere sweater, smirked. "Chilly, Granger?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Not really." She refused to let herself be provoked, and she knew that insulting Malfoy would hurt Harry. She hoped that Malfoy had realized the same about her, and that he cared enough to remember it. Apparently he did, because he didn't say anything more to her on the short walk to the underground. Like all proper Londoners, Hermione owned an Oyster Card, and it had enough credit on it to see her through the holiday, if she used it sparingly. Harry did not have one, but he had enough muggle money that it didn't matter. As promised, he paid for Malfoy, explaining in an undertone what all the machines did. Once they'd purchased their tickets, Harry led them through the turnstiles and onto the platform. It was packed with people, and most of them had luggage with them. Hermione wondered if they would manage to get onto the first train, or if it would be far too full for them _and_ their trunks. Luckily, Harry had foreseen this problem and, as the train approached, he managed to maneuver the three of them to the front.

They managed to cram into the train, and it took off again, rattling over the underground tracks at full speed. Malfoy was gripping the handlebar so hard that his knuckles turned white, and he demanded, "People actually do this every _day_?"

Harry nodded. He too seemed to be ill at ease on the train, and Hermione wondered just how often he'd had occasion to take it. She herself was used to the movement, and, though she held on for safety's sake, she moved easily with the rhythm of the train.

Malfoy shook his head in amazement. "Utterly out of their minds," he remarked, as the train slowed to a jerky stop.

* * *

I wondered why anyone in their right mind would choose to ride this horror every day. Surely muggles had discovered some better means of transport, hadn't they? I was gratified that Harry seemed to be having as much trouble with it as I was, but the easy way that Granger rode the train infuriated me. She thought she was so clever, did she? I wanted to shove her, to nock her off balance and send her flying into the tall black man behind her, but I didn't. Harry had told me to be decent to her, and I'd promised that I would. His trust was worth more than my pride, but it was hard.

At long last, Harry announced that we had arrived. I grabbed my trunk and pushed my way through the people, lurching with relief onto the solid platform. We threaded our way through the crowd of people and wrestled our trunks up the stairs. "It's at times like these that I wish we were allowed to use Levitation charms," I remarked in an undertone.

Granger looked around in alarm. "Are you mad?" she hissed. "People could hear you!"

I shrugged, the quickly grabbed my trunk before it slipped back down the stairs. "They'll just think that I'm wishing for the impossible. Isn't that what they always think?"

She sighed, and didn't comment any farther. I supposed that Harry had asked her not to snap at me too much. He had, after all, given me similar instructions regarding her.

We finally made it into the open air, and walked briskly down the three blocks to Harry's mysterious house. He hadn't told me where it came from, only that it was protected by the Fidelius charm and that only Dumbledore could let me in. I wondered if Harry had managed to get Dumbledore's permission, then realized that he must have, to be bringing us here. Sure enough, he pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of his jeans and passed it to me. "Memorize this," he said. "Dumbledore wrote it for me."

I looked at the paper, memorizing the line of writing. When I looked up, there was another house squeezed in between numbers 11 and 13. I wondered why the muggles didn't notice the gap. Harry walked up to the gate and pulled it open, gesturing for us to follow. We headed into the house, and I looked around in interest. It was obviously a very expensive, very grand house that had fallen into disrepair of late. The shabby interior was proof of that, as was the garden full of weeds that we could see through the small window in the door. There was a set of curtains on the right side, and I advanced towards them. Harry caught my arm and shook his head. He led me on, and we soon emerged into a large kitchen area. "Those curtains are covering a picture that we _really_ don't want to set off," he explained, letting go of me. "I'd rather you not try and open them, if you don't mind." I shrugged, resolving to find out who was behind the curtain at the soonest possible opportunity.

Harry turned to Granger. "D'you want to go put your stuff in the room you shared with Ginny? I'll be up in a second, I just need to make myself known to Kreacher."

She shrugged. "Please try not to kill him, Harry," she begged. "He doesn't know any better."

Harry snorted, but didn't answer. She left the kitchen and walked up the stairs. When we could no longer hear her footsteps, Harry scowled and called sharply, "Kreacher!"

There was a pop, and an ancient House Elf appeared. He was dressed in an incredibly grubby tea towel, and his tennis-ball eyes glowered up at us. He seemed to recognize me, because he bowed deeply. "Kreacher is honored that decent folks have come to his house at last," he said. "Kreacher will introduce young Master Malfoy to his Mistress as soon as he can. Kreacher's Mistress will be so happy!"

"You'll do no such thing," Harry snapped.

Kreacher turned to him with a scowl and an even lower bow. "And here is Kreacher's new master, filth that he is. Oh, Kreacher's poor mistress would be so sad if she only knew what kind of filth was invading her family's house. Blood traitors and mudbloods."

"Shut up, Kreacher," Harry said, in such a cold voice that I was actually shocked. I'd never heard Harry that angry before. The house elf stopped talking, and looked at Harry with hate-filled eyes. "While I'm here, I'm your master," Harry went on. "You _will _do what I tell you to do, or else. Do you understand me, Kreacher?" At the house elf's nod, Harry continued. "You are not to talk to any of us unless we ask you a direct question. You are not to leave this house under any circumstance. You are not to show yourself to us unless we call you. You are to have no contact with anyone outside of this house in any way shape or form. You are not even to set eyes on anyone but the three of us. You are not to fawn over Draco unless he asks it expressly, and you are not to introduce him to _her_. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Kreacher muttered, "Filth in my mistress's house." Harry fixed him with an icy stare. "Kreacher understands."

"Then get out of my sight!" Harry snarled. Kreacher scowled horrible, then vanished with a loud crack.

"Why are you so vicious?" I asked curiously.

"He doesn't deserve kindness," Harry said shortly. "Come on. I'll show you the rooms."

We walked up the ancient stairs, looking at all the paintings that lined the staircase. Or at least, I did. Harry kept his eyes firmly in front of him. All the pictures seemed suitably impressed by my presence, and I was starting to realize just what kind of house we were in. But why Harry had inherited it was a complete mystery. He was obviously not in the mood to answer questions, though, so I kept quiet.

When we reached the landing, Harry nodded towards the door on the right. "You can have that one if you want," he said. I shrugged and pulled the door open. I found myself in a Slytherin haven. Everything was green. There were green pennants hung on the wall and the walls were painted bright emerald. A large trophy was prominently displayed on the shelf opposite the door, with the words, "Quidditch Cup" written in large letters. The bed, though not canopy, was large and comfortable looking. The fireplace was bare of any ornament, and it was obvious that no one had lit a fire there in ages. I wondered if we were allowed to do magic in the house. The fact that it was protected by the charm suggested that we could, but I supposed that there was no point in taking unnecessary chances. Not that I cared about the risks, but Harry might.

I left the room, having pushed my trunk to the foot of the bed and closed the door behind me. Only then did I notice the nameplate on the door. Regelus _Arcturus_ Black.

That explained some of it, I suppose. The Blacks had been a respectable family, and very involved with the Dark Arts. But why would Harry be here? What would draw him to the home of such a family? The way he looked around suggested that I shouldn't ask, and as I had only recently regained his friendship, I wasn't willing to test the bounds of that friendship any farther. I would have to hope that it would eventually be revealed. As soon as possible. The two of us walked down the stairs and turned into the kitchen. "I would make Kreacher cook," Harry said as he got out an assortment of pots and pans, "But I don't trust anything that he would make. I forgot to tell him not to poison us."

I didn't comment, only watched with interest as Harry moved around the kitchen. I realized that I'd never actually seen a meal cooked from scratch before. The way he did it was much like the way we did potions: measuring the ingredients carefully and cooking them for precise amounts of time. I wondered if his utter failure at potions was indeed solely the fault of Professor Snape. I admitted that the possibility was quite probable. No one could miss how Professor Snape looked at Harry, and the extra venom that infused his voice whenever he spoke to him. Of course, Harry hated Snape right back, which didn't help, but even so…

Granger, who came down the stairs, interrupted my reflections. She looked a little surprised at seeing Harry cook, but wisely chose not to comment. Obviously, she knew exactly what it was about this house that disturbed him, and, unless I missed my guess by a long shot, she was disturbed for the same reason. Unfortunately, I did not share the feeling, and the aura of pain and anger was irritating me in the extremes. I knew that it wouldn't be long until I cracked, and I hoped that they would deign to tell me before then.

We ate in a rather taut silence, and Harry vanished up the stairs as soon as we'd done. I hoped that we wouldn't spend the _entire_ holiday like this. It was almost worse than being at Hogwarts. Granger moved to clear the table and wash the dishes. I stayed where I was. She didn't comment, but I sensed the disapproval coming off her in waves.

"So is anyone going to let me in on the secret, or am I going to be guessing what I can and can't say all holiday?" I demanded, finally tired of the unspoken feelings.

She stopped and turned to me in surprise. "You mean Harry didn't tell you?"

I rolled my eyes. "If he'd told me, Granger, I wouldn't be asking _you_, now would I?"

She returned to her cleaning, but I thought that she was choosing her words, not ignoring mine. Finally, she began to explain, in a quiet, controlled voice that I knew so well, having used it often myself. By the time she'd finished the history of the house and their relationship with it, I was actually shocked. I'd known, of course, that Sirius Black was Harry's Godfather, but the fact had slipped my mind over the years. His reaction last spring suddenly seemed much more understandable.

I didn't say anything to her, and after a moment, she turned the water up again, but as I walked up the stairs to the Slytherin green room, I knew much more than I had when I first arrived.


	11. 5: realization 2

_Author's note: This is just silly. I have this entire story finished now, and I'm letting it sit here without uploading it. So from now until I don't know when, I will upload a chapter a day until it's finished. It's still a fairly raw story, I'm afraid, but I'll get around to editing it properly eventually. For now, I'm not in the right mindset for editing, and so if I wait to upload until I'm done editing, well, let's just say that you will probably be waiting for a _long_ time...  
Disclaimer: I don't remember if there are any OC's in this section, but, if there are, I own them, and if there aren't, I own nothing. -sighs- Such is life...  
--Tamara

* * *

_

He'd known that it would be hard. He'd even braced himself for the reaction that he knew he would have. But it hadn't been enough. It had been all he could do to stop from breaking down in front of Draco and Hermione when he entered the house. Now, though, now that he was alone, he could allow himself to let it all out. He realized that he'd never really cried for Sirius. Sure, he'd moped and been miserable, but he hadn't really cried. He didn't cry now, but he came very close. He stood in the middle of the room that had been Sirius' and tried his hardest to let the tears out. Nothing came and after a long moment, he had to admit that it was hopeless. He'd closed himself so much to his emotions that it was almost impossible to let them out. Not even to Ginny would he cry, and he trusted her more than anyone in the world. A fleeting image of Draco sobbing into his shoulder crossed his mind, but it vanished almost before Harry could process it.

He shook his head and made himself walk forwards to the desk. It was painted a dazzling Gryffindor gold, as was most of the rest of the room. What wasn't gold was red, and there were lions adorning almost every surface. Harry's mouth twitched slightly, imaging the reaction that Mr. and Mrs. Black must have had at Sirius' rebellion. He sat down on the red leather chair and pulled open the drawer. It was filled with pictures and letters addressed to Sirius. He wondered why no one had thrown them out, but quickly realized that they were all charmed not to leave the drawer. He frowned, and tried to think of a way to break the charm. It was almost certainly passworded, but what would Sirius have chosen? He racked his brain, but the only thing he could think of was the password to the Marauder's map. He shrugged, and gave it a shot. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Nothing happened, and he groaned out loud. He began to recite the names of the Marauders, then their nicknames. He ran through all the Gryffindor passwords that he could remember, and when nothing allowed him to pull the letters out, he wanted to scream in frustration. He'd tried _everything_! As a last resort, he said, "Lily Evans." To his amazement, the paper that he was clutching sprang free and he looked at the desk in disbelief. Sirius had used his mother's name as a password. He certainly hadn't mentioned _that_! He wondered how he'd felt when she turned to his father.

With a shrug, he looked down at the letter in his hands. It was addressed to Sirius from Harry's father. He scanned it quickly, noting that it had been written while they were still at school. He greedily read all the details about his father's vacation, trying to get as much about the man he'd never known out of what he'd written to the man that Harry had. He put down the letter and picked up a photograph. It showed James and Lily Potter, both grinning hugely, playing with a baby. Him. Feeling slightly sick, he put the picture away and closed the drawer. He hoped that it would lock itself again, but realized that he didn't really care. Kreacher refused to come in here, and neither Hermione nor Draco would go looking around through the drawers. It didn't matter if the drawer didn't lock again.

He made himself look around the rest of the room. He almost missed it the first time he swept his eyes across the walls, and only the slightest hint of sliver stopped his relentless gaze. He frowned, and moved closer to examine the round object. It couldn't be… could it? But it was. A perfectly average CD, bearing the words, "Emerson, Lake, and Palmer." Why on Earth did Sirius have CDs? How could he work them? Muggle technology didn't work in wizarding homes! So why were the CDs there? He looked around the room more closely, and suddenly grinned. One of the Gryffindor statues looked just slightly too flat for its size. He pulled out his wand and cast the standard anti-illusion spell. Sure enough, the statue dissolved, and in its place was a rather nice CD/Tape player. Harry looked it over, noting that there didn't seem to be any plug. As an experiment, he pushed the power button. The machine whirred to life, and there was the slight humming noise of an empty CD drive spinning. Harry pushed the open button and slipped the Emerson, Lake, and Palmer CD into the slot. There was a moment of scratchy whirring, and then the music began to play. Harry had to grin as he listened. He didn't know anything about Sirius' mother's taste in music, but he suspected that she would highly disapprove of this. Especially because it was muggle-made. He suddenly felt a lot better about staying here. If Sirius could survive years of living with his parents and still rebel enough to actually buy a muggle tape deck and CDs, then Harry owed it to him to stay here and be as cheerful as possible over Christmas. Besides, he couldn't wait to see Hermione's face when he played the music for her!

* * *

I watched him carefully when he came down the stairs the next morning, but he appeared to have made his peace with the house and his own ghosts. I asked about the magic, and he only grinned. I took that to mean that we were allowed to. My suspicions were confirmed when he sent the dishes flying into the sink as we finished. Granger looked disapprovingly at him, but he only shrugged. I excused myself and walked out of the kitchen to explore the house. Now that the atmosphere appeared to have relaxed considerably, I wanted to have a better idea of where I was to be staying.

It appeared to be the traditional old-fashioned house fallen into disrepair, just as it looked to be from the front. I discovered countless rooms and most of them were empty of everything but pictures and tapestries stuck with permanent sticking charms. Several of them were highly entertaining, and some were just downright odd. I didn't know, for instance, whether to be amused or appalled to find myself on the Black family tree. I finally decided to take it as a twisted compliment, and, with that mindset, was able to find the humor in many of the more gruesome and overdone decorations. The Blacks made no effort to hide their involvement with the Dark Arts, and from the glance that was all I'd allowed myself of the library, they seemed to have acquired quite a stack of information. I promised myself that I would explore it thoroughly at some later time.

My search finally led me back to the main hall and the painting that Harry hadn't wanted me to touch. The curiosity was unconquerable, and I walked up to the curtains. Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I pulled them open. An amazingly ugly woman regarded me. Her face might have been pretty once, but it had been destroyed by the years. The expression that she wore didn't help things much. She opened her mouth to say something, then frowned at me.

"Lucius?" she demanded.

I sighed. Not even a _painting_ could tell me and my father apart! "No."

"Who are you?" she barked.

"I'm Lucius' son," I said flatly.

"He's married?"

"Obviously."

"And you've come to live here, have you?"

"Certainly not! I'm here on holiday."

She frowned horribly. "Are you alone?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Harry came striding into view. Her expression changed to one of abject hatred, and she shrieked, "FILTHY HALF-BLOOD! COMING IN AND STEALING MY HOME FROM ME! IT SHOULD HAVE GONE TO NARCISSA'S SISTER! EVEN _SHE_ WOULD BE BETTER THAN _YOU_!"

Harry looked at her in disgust. "Shut up!" he said loudly. She didn't. Harry shouted louder at her, and she shouted back. The noise drew Granger into the scene, and she caught my eye.

"Close the curtains," Granger mouthed. I was more than willing, and the two of us wrestled the curtains shut. The portrait shut up then, and Harry slowly stopped breathing so heavily. I followed the two of them quietly into the kitchen, then sighed.

"Sorry about that," I said.

Granger started, presumably at the apology, but Harry waved it away wearily. "It was bound to happen sooner or later," he said.

"Who _is_ she?" I demanded.

"The late Mrs. Black," Granger said. Harry glared at her. "Well, she was!"

"She doesn't deserve the courtesy that that name implies," Harry muttered.

"She was Sirius' mother," Granger told me quietly. "As you can see, she doesn't really approve of us."

Harry laughed bitterly. "More like, she hates us. Her other son, Sirius' brother, was a Death Eater. He was mummy's boy, from all reports."

I remembered the green-coated room, and couldn't deny it.

Harry stood up and moved to the cupboards. He opened them and made an inventory of what was supplied and what wasn't. I knew that this was his way of saying that the subject of the late Mrs. Black was closed, and I didn't press it. I didn't want to know any more, anyway.

"We are out of almost everything," Harry announced. "Someone will have to go shopping."

"You go," Granger said instantly. I wondered whether that was just a reluctance to go shopping, or an understanding of the tension that had seeped back into the house. Maybe it was both.

Harry turned to me. "Come with me?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No thank you," I said vehemently. "I have absolutely no desire to go out into muggle London."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll have to go out some time," he reminded. "You can't just stay here all month."

"No."

"Please?"

I dropped my head into my hands. That wasn't fair. He'd cheated, though he didn't realize it. When have I ever been able to refuse his please? I made an effort to salvage my pride and image. "You will owe me big for this."

He grinned and didn't answer. I followed him out through the hallway, being supremely quiet as we passed, and out of the house.

"No reason to lock it," Harry said. "It's protected by enough spells."

I only nodded. "I suppose you aren't going to tell me why you insisted on bringing me along?" I asked as we set off at a brisk pace.

"I wanted company," he answered.

"And why didn't you ask Granger?"

He rolled his eyes. "Draco, if I tell you that I wanted time alone with you, would you believe me?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Yes," I managed, trying desperately not to blush. "Is it true?"

"Yes," he said. "I don't actually know you very well, you know."

"So you want to learn the secrets of who I truly am, is that it?"

He shrugged. "I'll learn as much as you'll teach me," he said.

"How much do you want to know?" I asked, handing the question right back to him.

He glared at me. "You are being singularly unhelpful," he announced.

I grinned. "It's my specialty. So if you're going to delve into my psyche, can I pry into yours?"

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"You first," I said generously.

He sighed, and didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he asked carefully, "Are you worth getting to know?"

"That's cheating! I get two for that!"

"Just answer!"

"Fine. I suppose that that depends entirely on who you are."

"I happen to be me, Harry Potter."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You're sidestepping," he said in exasperation. "Just give me a straight answer!"

"Yes. My turn." I considered for a moment, then said, "All right. First question: chocolate or Quidditch?"

"What kind of question is that?"

I snickered. "Just answer," I replied, grinning inwardly at the inadvertent quotation.

"Quidditch," he said after a long moment's thought. He glared at me. "That's harder than it sounds!"

I nodded. "Of course it is. The next one will make more sense, I promise. What's your favorite childhood memory?"

His face closed as he thought. Finally, he said slowly, "Finding out that I was a wizard and that I didn't have to stay with the Dursleys for the rest of my life. I'll ask you the same questions, just to see."

I rolled my eyes. "Very imaginative," I commented dryly. "Let's see. I definitely prefer chocolate, and my favorite memory is the first broom that I ever received."

He snorted. "If you prefer chocolate, then how do you manage to stay so skinny?"

I grinned. "I have a _very_ fast metabolism. Hugs or cookies?"

He stared at me. "You are very odd, if you can actually find answers in these," he said.

"Of course I am. Which is it?"

"Hugs. Why are you asking me questions like this?"

"Is that the one you're using for you turn?"

He nodded.

"I'm building up a repertoire," I said. "Black or white?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"What do you mean?"

"Colors, or morals?"

"You choose."

He sighed. "I prefer the _color_ black, but my heart lies on the side of justice."

I chocked back a snort. "How poetic," I said.

"I try. What's your favorite class?"

I frowned, considering. "Potions," I said finally.

He grimaced. "Like I couldn't have guessed on my own," he muttered. "We're here, by the way."

I blinked, and looked into the glass window of a muggle department store. He led me to the door, and I followed him through, silently marveling at the sheer number of things that were for sale. No wizarding shop could ever hope to sell this amount of stuff and manage to stay open. "They need all this?" I muttered to Harry as we walked over to the grocery section.

He shrugged. "You'd be amazed," he said. He grabbed a basket as we passed the stack, and began to browse the area. I followed him, watching as he carefully compared items that looked to be the same to me, and selected one through a logic that I couldn't see. It was obvious that he was familiar with the contents of a store like this, and I wondered again why he'd bothered to ask me to come with him. It took a long time to select it all, and I was thoroughly bored by the time he was finished. I was about to tell him that I would wait for him outside when a voice said, "Harry?"

He looked up sharply, and I imitated him, looking into the eyes of a very pretty Indian girl. A very pretty, very _familiar_ Indian girl. She was with an older woman, perhaps her mother, and they were looking at the two of us. "Hello Parvati," Harry said. "You _are_ Parvati, aren't you?"

Parvati nodded, grinning. "This is my older sister Roopangi. 'Pangi, this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy." She didn't look surprised to see me, and I wondered with a sudden drop of my stomach just what she knew.

"Pleased to meet you both," Roopangi said with a slight nod. Her voice was low and slightly husky, fitting perfectly with her above-average looks. Apparently beauty ran in the family. "Parvati, we must leave soon. Say hello to your friends while I pay for the groceries, and then we have to go."

Parvati nodded, and Roopangi melted back into the flow of traffic. The younger witch looked from me to Harry, and raised her eyebrows.

Harry sighed. Obviously he knew her much better than I did, and the look she was giving us now meant trouble. "What do I have to pay you so that you won't tell Lavender?" he asked.

She grinned. "Harry, you are very smart. It's not that extravagant, I promise you. Take me to Hogsmeade on Valentine's day."

Harry blanched. "No."

"Oh?"

"Parvati, I'm not available. You know that."

She shrugged, tossing her long black hair out of the way. "She won't mind, I promise you. Look, what if she agreed. _Then_ would you go out with me?"

He sighed. "Will nothing else seal your lips?"

"No."

"Fine. _If_ she agrees, and I want to hear it from her, do you understand?"

She nodded, then flashed both of us a dazzling grin. "Then I shall see you around," she promised. She glided away, and Harry and I were left alone once more.

* * *

Hermione burst out laughing when she saw the two of them stagger back into the kitchen. Both were laden down with bags of groceries, and Harry's face was still flushed a dull red. She accepted some of his bags and began to help with putting them away. As she worked, she asked, "So what happened to you both?"

"Parvati happened to me," Harry answered, popping his head out of the cupboard that he was filling. "Draco just watched."

Hermione lifted her eyebrows. "Parvati?" she asked. "At Mark's and Spencer's?"

Harry nodded. "I was surprised to see her too."

"Harry," she said warningly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he protested, but he wouldn't look at her. She would disapprove, he knew, and he would rather not have to deal with that on top of everything else.

"He agreed to escort her to Hogsmeade on St. Valentine's Day if his girlfriend lets him," Draco said lazily. Harry wanted to wring his neck. The blond Slytherin was _enjoying _his discomfort, curse him! He wasn't helping them put the groceries away either, just lounging against the counter watching as Harry and Hermione juggled the supplies.

Hermione looked at Harry, surprised shock on her face. "You agreed to go out with _Parvati_?" she demanded. "On _Valentine's day_? Didn't you learn _anything_ last year?"

Harry sighed. "It's not like that, Hermione," he said through his clenched teeth. He hoped that his blush had faded, but he suspected that it simply blazed more brightly than ever. He looked down instead. "We're just going as friends."

Hermione looked at him in that way she had, as though you'd suddenly lost all of your brains in a rather unfortunate accident and she didn't quite know what to say. "There's no such thing as a 'just as friends' date with Parvati, Harry," she said patiently. "You'd better hope that Ginny says no."

He sighed. He knew that she was right, but it bothered him anyway. "I have a right to order my own life, you know," he snapped.

Draco snorted. Harry whirled to face him, narrowly avoiding knocking himself out with the cupboard door. "Do you have something to add?" Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. "No," he said.

"Then make yourself useful," Harry snapped. He pointed imperiously to a bag of groceries. "Start unpacking."

Draco looked at the bag with distaste. "Can't you get the elf to do it?" he asked.

"No," Harry said shortly. "I won't make you cook, because I suspect that you have no idea how," he didn't wait for Draco's confirming nod, "but you will help put the groceries away."

"Is this how you treat your guests?" Draco demanded. Even so, he moved languidly to the bag and started rummaging inside.

"You're not my guest, you're my friend," Harry retorted. "It's different."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "You have to be one or the other?" he asked.

"Here you do," Harry told him firmly. "Besides, do you _really_ want Kreacher touching your food?"

Draco sighed theatrically. "You do have a point there," he admitted. "So where am I to put these?"

Harry gave him a quick overview of the kitchen, then turned back to his own collection of bags. Hermione, who'd finished hers just a moment before, nodded to him. "You're cooking tonight," she said.

"And where are you going?" Harry demanded.

"To my room," she replied, heading for the door.

"Have fun," Harry said dryly.

"I will," she promised. "Call me for dinner." She walked out and they heard her tread up the stairs. She apparently forgot that one of them creaked, because a loud groan could be heard clearly. Harry hoped that it wouldn't wake Sirius' mum. Luck seemed to be with them, because there was dead silence from the front corridor. He turned back to Draco, who was still slowly unloading his bag of groceries. Harry left him to it.

"Something simple, I think," he murmured to himself, reviewing the newly filled shelves and cupboards.

"Do you actually intend to make dinner the muggle way again?" Draco demanded.

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry replied, frowning slightly as he reviewed his choices.

"You can do magic here, in case you've forgotten," Draco pointed out.

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I like cooking."

Draco snorted. "Yet you almost failed potions last year, if I recall. You needed remedial lessons for a while there."

Harry started. He'd forgotten the story that they'd put out to hide what he was really doing with Snape all those evenings. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's right."

Draco looked at him oddly. "Harry?" he asked, frowning.

Harry shook himself, returning to the present and turning away from the memories invoked by his time with Snape. "Sorry," he said. "Bad memories."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't understand what you all have against Professor Snape," he complained. "He's perfectly civil, you know."

Harry goggled at him. "To _you_, maybe," he said. Had Draco been paying _attention_ in potions class for the past five and a half years? "Not to me."

"It's all a matter of perspective," Draco assured him. "If you see him as an evil vampire-like person, he will be. If you don't, well, then he won't be."

Harry snorted. "It's a bit late to be telling me that," he said dryly. "I doubt that he'll change now."

"If you say so," Draco said, resigned. "So what will you make, if you're so sure about wanting to do it the muggle way?"

Harry shrugged. "Not sure yet," he admitted. "Something simple, though. I don't have the energy for anything elaborate." He scanned the contents of the cupboards again, then selected a package of rice and some shredded beef and sour cream. He walked over to the stove and quickly began to prepare his meal. As he worked, he did his best to think of just the food cooking softly in front of him. If he let his mind wander, he would start thinking about the Occlumency lessons again, and he'd rather not.

Finally, the stroganoff was finished. He dispatched Draco to inform Hermione, then busied himself with setting the table. He put Draco and Hermione across from each other, with himself at the head. Hopefully that would be enough to stave off the worst of the tension.

Draco and Hermione came into the kitchen shortly afterwards. Harry directed them to their places, then served the meal. They ate in slightly uncomfortable silence for a while. Harry was beginning to wonder if bringing both of them here together had been the smartest idea in the world when Hermione said, "So what are you planning on doing for Christmas?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I assume that we're going to celebrate it," she clarified. "Do you have any specific ideas as to, say, decorations?"

"We could have a tree," Harry suggested.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do you realize how much work a tree is?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "It can't be that hard, can it?" he asked.

"It's obvious that you've never done it," Hermione said dryly.

"The Dursleys have one every year," Harry said defensively. "I got to take care of it."

She shrugged in her turn. "If you're determined," she said. "I suppose that I don't mind terribly.

"Mind telling me what you're talking about?" Draco drawled, pushing himself back from the table and stretching out his legs.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "Don't wizards have Christmas trees?" he asked.

"Obviously not," Draco said. "If we did, then I wouldn't be asking you, now would I?"

Harry briefly explained the concept of a Christmas tree. Draco looked supremely skeptical. "And you want to do that here?" he asked.

"Why not?" Harry asked defensively.

Draco shrugged. "Well, _I_ certainly won't go with you to buy the thing."

Harry shrugged back. "I didn't ask you to," he replied. "All I asked you was whether you would mind terribly."

Draco considered for a moment. "I suppose it's acceptable," he said grudgingly.

Harry grinned. "Excellent," he said brightly. "Hermione, shall we go tomorrow morning?"

Hermione looked at him sternly. "What makes you think that I'm going with you?" she demanded.

"Well, I'm rubbish at picking by myself," he explained. "You seem to have experience in that department, so I'm asking you."

She laughed. "Oh, all right," she conceded. "Tomorrow."

He grinned. "Thanks a million! In exchange, I won't make you help me clean up." He looked at Draco. "_You_, however," he began, not finishing his sentence. Draco sighed, but stood up anyway and glared at Harry. Harry ignored him, and Draco sulkily began to gather the plates.

* * *

Hermione hadn't realized how much she'd missed being able to decorate a proper Christmas tree. They'd taken advantage of Malfoy's absence to take the underground, and Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun at a time. It seemed that, after the first rather uncomfortable day, they had spent the entire holiday so far happy. Even Malfoy had been bearable, even almost pleasant at times. Harry was delighted, and he'd laughed more in the last few days than he had in the entire term. The worry of Voldemort had lifted momentarily, as had that of school images and they were just being themselves. Hermione was discovering, much to her amazement, that she actually liked Malfoy as himself. His school personality was still a git, of course, but she knew both of her worlds well enough to know that everyone had layers.

Buying the tree turned out to be much harder than either of them had anticipated, and they finally had to guess on the size, dimensions, and color. She thought the salesman was about turn them away out of sheer frustration by the time they finally made their choice. Lugging it back to Grimmauld Place was another problem altogether until they remembered that Hermione, now officially seventeen, could perform magic outside of school. They managed to maneuver it into a side street, then Hermione shrunk it down to the size and weight of a miniature, after informing Harry that he would owe her a considerable sum of money by the time the Holiday was over. He only grinned at her. After this, it was much more convenient, and they returned to the house quickly enough.

Once back, Hermione returned the tree to its original size, and they saw with gratification that their calculations had been correct. It was a little tight, but it fit into the corner that they'd prepared with a minimum of trouble. Decorating it, of course, was another problem altogether. Sirius' family didn't own many Christmas ornaments, and the three of them all agreed that the ones that they did own were totally inappropriate. In the end, Harry and Malfoy went out to buy some while Hermione stayed behind, trying to convince herself that she knew how to bake. Ever since she'd been too little to remember, her mother had baked cookies at Christmastime, and Hermione never fully appreciated the season without the taste of Snicker doodles and M & Ms melting in her mouth. She wondered if she could convince her mother to send her some this year. Harry and Malfoy returned before she could make up her mind to ask, and she abandoned the kitchen table and recipe books to help them decorate.

The decorating was accomplished in laughter and good-natured teasing. Malfoy had never had a proper Christmas tree, and Harry had never decorated one, and so it was to Hermione that they both turned as the ultimate dispenser of wisdom as to what was best. She felt a little flattered, and tried her best to be a decent moderator and judge. In the end, though, the tree appeared to have been decorated by a pair of overzealous children. She had to laugh at the result: all the ornaments were clustered near the top and the front, leaving the sides and bottom virtually bare. The top was adorned with a ludicrously oversized star, and garlands were swathed all over it, obscuring many of the ornaments. She wondered if she should try to even it out that night, but decided not to in the end. It was their tree, after all. She would buy her own miniature one and hang her personal ornaments on it later.

She finally wrote to her mother about the cookies, and popped out to post her letter and buy the miniature tree around four in the afternoon. Harry and Malfoy were engrossed in an explosive game of Gobstones, and they hardly even noticed her leave.

Once out alone in the open air, Hermione took a deep breath. She loved the smell of the city, even with the smog and pollution that blanketed it so often. She'd been raised in the suburbs, but the city had always fascinated her. She loved the feel of the busyness and the importance. She loved to watch the people hurrying on their ways and speculate as to where they might be going. She loved the never-ending sound of the traffic and the clattering of the underground. She loved the city any time, but London at Christmas would always hold a special place in her heart. She set off towards the shopping district swiftly, taking in the scene. When she finally arrived, she wasted no time in purchasing the miniature tree she wanted. It was a dark, dusky green, with soft needles. The branches were even on all sides, and she was assured that it wouldn't lose too many needles as she tried to decorate it.

She carried the tree carefully and set off down the street to the home of her Aunt Addison. Aunt Addy was her mother's unmarried sister, and she was by far Hermione's favorite relative. They'd made it a tradition always to visit Aunt Addy the week before Christmas, and Hermione hoped that her aunt wouldn't mind this unannounced visit. She quickly arrived at Aunt Addy's flat and shifted the tree to her left arm to knock on the door.

It was opened by a petite blond woman who grinned hugely at Hermione. "Darling! I haven't seen you in _ages_!"

Hermione grinned and stepped through the door into Aunt Addy's flat. "I've missed you too," she said, putting the tree down on the table to hug her aunt.

"It seems like years since I heard from you," Aunt Addy complained, closing the door behind Hermione and examining her niece. "You've filled out nicely."

Hermione grinned, reflecting that if her mother had said that same thing, she would have just about died from shame. "I need new clothes," she admitted. "You know what mum's like, though."

Aunt Addy grimaced in sympathy. "Do I ever," she agreed. "You might fit into some of my old things. Why don't you make yourself something to drink while I go see."

Hermione walked the well-known route to the kitchen, and pulled open the drinks cupboard, looking her choices over. The peppermint Schnapps was highly tempting, but she had to get home under her own power. With a sigh, she made herself unspiked hot chocolate, complete with a generous serving of cinnamon. She was drinking it slowly when Aunt Addy came into the room, several garments draped over her arm.

"Some of these might fit you," she said. "They're summer clothes, of course, but you can wait, can't you?"

Hermione nodded. She grinned up at her aunt. "Would you mind terribly if I left them here, though? It's just that I'm staying in a house with two boys and…"

"Say no more," Aunt Addy laughed. "Does Helen know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Or rather, she knows that I'm with Harry, but she doesn't realize that there's someone else staying with us."

Aunt Addy nodded knowingly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked. "Or did you come just to enjoy my company?"

"Both," Hermione admitted. "I've missed you, and I remembered that my ornaments are still here. I came to say hello and fetch them."

Aunt Addy nodded again. "I see. Well I still have them somewhere, I'm sure of it. Unless, maybe I put them out with the good will…" She grinned merrily at the horrorstruck expression on Hermione's face. "Don't worry Darling. I know exactly where you left them. I'll go fetch them, shall I?"

"Please," Hermione said, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. As Aunt Addy moved off into the next room, Hermione examined the clothes that her aunt had carelessly draped over the chair. Brief skirts, strapless tops, those weird things that tied around the neck, miniscule dresses… whatever it was that girls Hermione's age wore, Aunt Addy had it. She was absently fingering the imitation satin of one of the skirts when Aunt Addy returned with a delicately wrought silver box. She grinned as she saw the skirt that Hermione was examining.

"That one's one of my favorites," she confided. "I used to wear it all the time, before I grew out of it. You want to take it with you?"

Hermione considered for a few moments, then suddenly threw caution to the wind. "Actually, I think I'll take them all."

"Someone's eye you want to catch?" Aunt Addy asked.

Hermione didn't answer, and Aunt Addy laughed. "Take them all Darling. You don't have to give them back."

Hermione gulped the last drops of her hot chocolate and stood. "I'm so sorry to be running off so fast," she said apologetically. "But if the boys are going to get anything at all in the way of food, I'd better go back."

"They make you cook for them?" Aunt Addy asked, scandalized.

Hermione shrugged. "Harry and I take turns. Malfoy… well, he was raised in a family with servants. To say that he can't cook is a bit of an understatement."

Aunt Addy laughed again. "I see. Well, come see me soon, 'kay?" She kissed Hermione on both cheeks and helped her gather up her things. The clothes went in a gray leather bag, which Aunt Addy also said that she could keep. The miniature tree and the silver box were balanced in both hands, and Hermione had to allow Aunt Addy to open the door for her. She grinned at her aunt, promised to come back for a proper talk, and left.

Harry and Malfoy had barely moved when she returned. From what she could tell, they were playing a championship game, and Malfoy appeared to be winning. Sure enough, just as she closed the door behind her, Malfoy grinned and declared, "Champion of the Universe!"

Harry groaned, and finally looked up. He saw Hermione with surprise and asked, "Where've _you_ been?"

"Out," Hermione answered. She passed through the living room and walked up the stairs to her room. Once she'd locked the door, she dumped the leather bag onto the bed and carefully set the tree on the desk. She placed the silver box next to it and looked at it for a moment before flipping it open. Her mother had given her this box as an early birthday present when she went off to Hogwarts, but the contents dated back far earlier. Some of the ornaments inside were antique heirlooms, and some had been purchased for or by Hermione herself, but all were special.

She took out the first one: a silver swan. It had been her grandmother's, and Hermione suspected that it had been given to her by a one-time love. Whoever it was, her grandmother had never said anything about him. The next ornament was a delicate origami crane. Hermione didn't know whose it had been, but it had always been a part of her Christmas collection. The pair of miniature Dutch wooden shoes were after that, then the Swiss cowbell. A series of colored balls came out of the box, and a set of candles. A quick spell reduced them all to an appropriate size. She pulled out several more ornaments, hanging them carefully, making sure that the tree looked balanced. Finally, she pulled away the last layer of tissue paper and revealed the most precious of all of the ornaments. It wasn't the most valuable of them all, or even the prettiest. But the ornately designed golden angel had belonged to her second cousin Marco. Marco was the first boy who'd ever kissed her and meant it, and she'd fallen hopelessly in love with him at the tender age of nine. She knew that, despite everything that had happened since, it was the most precious love of her life. Marco had been killed in a car crash last summer, and she'd cried inconsolably at his funeral. That day, Uncle Roman had given her the angel, saying that Marco had wanted her to have it.

She carefully set the angel on top of the tree and surveyed her work. She closed her curtains with a quick spell and darkened the lights. She reached into the box and came out with a small book of matches. Deftly, she lit all the candles, then replaced the matches in the box and just sat there, smelling the combined scents of pine needles, sap, and melting wax.

She didn't know how long she sat there for. Finally, though, she had to come back to reality. With a melancholy sigh, she blew the candles out one by one and sat for a moment in total darkness. She didn't turn the lights back on when she left the room.

* * *

Her mother's reply came in the form of recipes. Hermione read them over, grinning slightly as she remembered Christmastimes filled with the tantalizing scents of the goodies that she was currently reading about. She was even more determined to make at least a few cookies, and she carefully went through the cupboards, making a list of everything she would need.

Malfoy wandered into the kitchen as she was preparing the ingredients for a test batch of Snicker doodles. "What are you doing, Granger?"

"What does it look like? I'm making cookies."

"Why?"

"It's a Christmas tradition." He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and watched her as she measured and mixed. Unconsciously, she remembered all the times that she'd watched her mother go through these exact same motions, and grinned at the memory of that first taste of the dough. The cookies were always fabulous, but that first taste of raw cookie dough was always the most delicious of all. She greased a cookie sheet lightly and rapidly mixed the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl, carrying everything over to the table. She sat down across from Malfoy and began deftly rolling the dough into balls and coating the balls in the cinnamon sugar mixture. He watched her in silence, and she finally said, "Are you going to help, or just watch?"

"I don't know what to do," he told her.

"It's easy. Take about this much dough," she demonstrated with the ball she'd just started rolling. "Roll it around until it's reasonably spherical, coat it evenly in the cinnamon sugar, and put it on the cookie sheet."

He shrugged and reached across the table into the large mixing bowl. He scooped up a clump of dough and began to roll it between his palms. They worked in silence for a while until he asked abruptly, "Where did you learn to do this?"

"My mother taught me," Hermione answered, rearranging the cookies slightly so that they wouldn't run into each other. "She always bakes cookies at Christmas."

"And she let you help?"

Hermione nodded. "When I was little, she'd let me do this part. As I got older, she taught me how to make the dough and little tricks to make it easier. By the time I went away to school, I could make all the cookies that she does."

He seemed a little wistful as he rolled his ball in the cinnamon sugar. "My mother hosted parties," he said. "All season long our house would be crowded with glamorous people that I didn't know. She let me come, sometimes. She would dress me up prettily and I would smile at all the grownups and they would gush over how adorable I was. Then she would send me off to bed and stay up with her friends."

Hermione nodded, sensing that he didn't want sympathy. "Every year, there's the dentist's ball. It's not a proper ball, but that's just what they call it. Everyone takes turns hosting it, and one year, it was at our house. I hated it. They forced me into a frilly dress with bows all over it and made me socialize. There was only one other girl my age there, and I loathed her."

"Oh?"

"Elsa Bridgeton," Hermione said with passion. She could still see Elsa; with her little blond curls done up adorably on top of her head, her white dress immaculate, her manners perfect. Such a contrast from Hermione herself, whose brown hair had been unmanageable even then, and who had runs in her stockings and a button coming off the back of her dress.

"Poisonous, was she?"

"Perfectly." Hermione wondered why she hadn't thought of that word before. 'Poisonous' summed Elsa up exactly.

She efficiently rolled the remaining dough into a ball, enveloped it with the last of the cinnamon sugar mixture, and slid the cookie sheets into the oven. She moved back to the table and looked into the bowl. There was a scraping of dough left. She ran her finger around, gathering as much of it up as she could. She put her finger into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss. The first lick of cookie dough tasted as good as she remembered.


	12. 5: realization 3

_Author's note: and more Christmas, this time with the day itself. as we warned you before (or, at least, i think we warned you) this chapter is very, _very_ long. it's pure self-indulgence, really. we just had too much fun making them all happy. -sighs- and most of it will have to be cut. but it's all good. we just want a record of it here before we get to the painful process of being firm with ourselves and cutting stuff.  
Disclaimer: if it doesn't belong to JK Rowling, it belongs to Greenday. you'll get it when you read the chapter...  
--kyra

* * *

_

For the next several days, Granger backed cookies. By the end, I was sure that we had enough to feed an army. But she only laughed at my objections and informed me that they'd all be eaten by the time we left. I usually watched her make them, idly admiring the sure way she handled the ingredients and measurements. I wondered if her skill in the kitchen was due to her talent at potions or if it was the other way around. Most of the time she would make me help her roll the cookies and put them onto the sheets, but when she cut them into shapes, I wasn't even allowed to touch them. The molds had been borrowed from some relative or other, and she treated them with the same almost religious devotion as her books.

"When will you stop trying to turn us all into pigs?" I asked, watching her turn out yet another rack of goodies.

She shrugged. "When I'm sick of baking. And don't worry; if we don't eat them all, I'll just ship them off to Ron. He'll eat them as fast as he can."

I snorted, recalling years of having to watch Weasley shove food into his mouth. "Aren't you afraid that he'll come here and beg him for more?"

"Why should he come?"

"I don't know. But you should try and make sure that he doesn't. It would ruin Harry's holiday if his best friend would try to kill me."

"Ron wouldn't try to kill you," she protested.

I raised an eyebrow, and she flushed slightly. "Well, not very hard," she amended.

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't matter how hard he tries, Granger. I'd still be forced to hit him with something nasty."

"So it's not yourself you're worried about?"

I shook my head. "I am quite capable of defeating Weasley in any kind of magical duel you could wish. I just don't think Harry would enjoy having to pick up the pieces."

She nodded her agreement, then asked, "I've been meaning to ask you. If you're so sure of yourself, why don't you try harder in class?"

"Come again?"

"Everyone knows that you get average grades. I know that you passed all your OWLs, probably with very high marks, or you wouldn't be in Professor Snape's advanced class. So you must be talented. But why don't you show it?"

I considered this. "Granger, have you ever heard the expression, 'keep the standards low'?"

"Of course. But if you wanted to do that, then why are you in Professor Snape's class?"

"Because I'm also interested in staying alive. Look, Granger. If I'm underestimated, then no one will be prepared for everything that I can do, right?"

"I suppose," she said uncertainly. "But how do you learn?"

"I can do everything that the teachers assign," I assured her.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh really? What about your height?"

I grinned. "Do you want a demonstration?"

She shrugged. "Not really. You're holding my cookies. But can you do it?"

I nodded. "Of course I can do it."

"Then why weren't you in class?"

"Because, as I've been explaining to you, it's better if your enemies don't know what you're capable of."

"Are you telling me that you have enemies in the class?" She said it sarcastically, but I fixed her with a level glare.

"Granger, I have enemies _everywhere_. Why do you think that the Ministry was so quick to imprison my mother?"

Her sarcasm changed to shocked disbelief. "You mean they want to throw you in jail too? But you're still a kid!"

I grimaced. "My seventeenth birthday is in June, Granger. And you _can_ be sent to Azkaban as young as thirteen."

"They've imprisoned people at _thirteen_?!" she demanded, shocked.

I shrugged. "It's happened, yes. His name was Vlad Black. No relation to the Blacks who used to own this residence, at least, not that I'm aware of. They got his entire family."

"But what did he do?"

I rolled my eyes. "I would assume that his family didn't support the government of the time. Honestly, Granger, what do you think you need to have done? I would assume that the muggle government is as corruptible as the wizarding ones have been."

She started to protest, then shut her mouth, apparently remembering muggle governments of the past. Finally, she said, "But they didn't throw children to monsters!"

I laughed without humor. "There are human monsters, Granger. Never forget that: the most dangerous of the monsters aren't the ones with fangs. They're the ones who wear human forms."

She sighed. "I am well aware of that," she said acidly. "But that doesn't mean that they should be allowed to run free."

I snorted. "Do you want to purge the land of monsters like the heroes of old? You'll need a horse and a sword."

She rolled her eyes. "I believe that my wand will suffice. But that is beside the point."

"Is there a point? I have answered your question."

"You have," she agreed. There was a long beat of silence, then she added, "Are you going to put those down, or will I just have to trust you not to drop them?"

I glanced down at the tray of cookies in my hand. I'd forgotten that I was holding them, but lowered them carefully down onto the table anyway. I had no desire to stay in the room and watch her anymore, and I hurriedly excused myself and retired to my room. She'd stirred up painful memories, and I needed a quiet place in which to force them back into the box that they came in. I had no wish to think of any of them at the moment.

* * *

Hermione popped the last tray of cookies into the oven and sat down slowly. The conversation with Malfoy had shaken her severely, and she didn't know what to think. She'd always known that governments could be cruel, and she supposed that there was no reason to suppose that wizarding ones were any better than the muggle ones, but even so… Maybe it was that the wizarding world was still unfamiliar to her. Even after five years of almost compulsive studying, she still felt that she didn't know many of the basic things that people like Ron or Malfoy found instinctive. Of course, she was slowly losing her connection with the muggle world as well. She smiled bitterly, reflecting that if she went on like this for the rest of her life, she would find herself existing with one foot in both worlds, watching both and understanding neither. It was a daunting prospect.

She wondered if Harry felt the same way. He seemed to have embraced wizarding culture wholeheartedly, and she had no indication that he found it as unintelligible as she did. But then, she'd had a loving family and an, if not perfect, then an undeniably decent childhood. Harry had had neither. It was only natural that he would turn to the world that loved and accepted him. In the wizarding world, he had the Weasleys and school. He was famous and everyone knew who he was. Despite what he said to the contrary, Hermione suspected that he couldn't help but bask very slightly in the adoration of the multitudes. It was impossible not to, after all.

And then there was her. She was known only as the brains of the trio, the girl who came up with the answers. She was the Dorothy Ann of the group, and she didn't know if she liked it or not. She wasn't too keen on public recognition, true, but it would have been nice to get _some_ gratitude. She knew exactly how Ron felt, and at times like these, she sympathized much more with him than with Harry.

She let her mind drift back to her previous life, as she sometimes thought of her childhood. She'd been the eldest, and her parents had been proud of her accomplishments. True, she'd had few friends, but the ones that she did have were close to her. They'd drifted away now that she didn't see them all the time, she realized. When was the last time she'd heard from Wendy Fairfield, for example? She couldn't remember. For that matter, she could barely conjure Wendy's face. Brown hair, maybe. Brown eyes, yes that was right. The face was fuzzy, and the personality was indistinct. She frowned, trying to remember. A sense of humor. An overactive imagination. There wasn't anything else that sprang instantly to mind, and Hermione gave up. She resolved to visit Wendy this summer, at least to see if they could still get along.

The oven timer rang, and Hermione deftly removed the cookies. She placed the sheet on top of the oven to cool, and stripped off the apron that she'd put on. She had no desire to make any more cookies, and these wouldn't be cool enough to decorate for a while yet. She walked up the stairs to her room, wondering just what she was going to do. She felt a desperate need to reconnect to the muggle world, but she had no idea how to do it. What would put her firmly on the other side of the tangible dividing line? Music, maybe. She still enjoyed muggle music, though she hardly ever got the chance to play it. How could she? Muggle technology didn't work at Hogwarts, and she had no CDs anyway. She vaguely remembered someone talking about enchanting the Wizarding Wirelesses to pick up muggle stations, but she didn't have one of those either.

She slowed, thinking. She herself didn't have a wireless, but Malfoy did. Would he let her borrow it? She took a deep breath, wondering whether she would be able to work up the nerve to ask him. He hadn't seemed in the mood to communicate more, and she supposed that it was mainly her fault. But she really _did_ want to listen to music, and that was the only way that she could think of to do it.

She knocked on his door.

"What do you want?" he called from inside, not opening to look at her.

"Open the door," she called back.

"What do you want?"

"I want to borrow your wireless."

"Why?"

"To listen to music. Why else?"

"You like wizarding music?"

"No."

"Then what are you going to find to listen to?"

"Muggle music."

"It doesn't get muggle music. The new model hasn't come yet."

"There's a charm."

There was a beat of silence, then the door opened and Malfoy passed the object to her. "Bring it back when you're done."

"Thank you. I will." The door closed in her face, and Hermione carried it all the way up to her room.

Once closeted in the room, she put the wireless on the desk next to her Christmas tree and looked at it dully for a moment. The very thought of using magic seemed loathsome to her for an instant, and only the knowledge of where she was made her pick up her wand and cast the half-remembered charm. The wireless didn't change, but she flipped it on. There was a moment of static, then music began to filter through. It was the end of a song, and she turned up the volume as the next one began. It was by some band that she didn't recognize, but she instinctively tried to identify the words.

_I walk a lonely road__  
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes  
But it's home to me and I walk alone  
I walk this empty street  
On the Blvd. of broken dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
And I'm the only one and I walk alone  
I walk alone. I walk alone. I walk alone. I walk alone  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
_'_Til then I walk alone  
Read between the lines of what's  
Fucked up and everything's alright  
Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive  
And I walk alone  
I walk alone. I walk alone. I walk alone. I walk alone  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
_'_Til then I walk alone  
I walk alone. I walk alone.  
I walk this empty street on the blvd. of broken dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
And I'm the only one and I walk alone  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
ometimes I wish someone out there will find me_'_  
Til then I walk alone_

The song ended and another one came on, but Hermione didn't hear it. Her mind was still fixated on the words. They resonated within her, and captured something inside her soul. She did walk alone. Neither Harry nor Ron understood what it was like to have been dragged out of a world that she knew and understood and told that she truly belonged in a strange, alien world where she wasn't accepted for who she was. That _was_ Ron's world, and he knew no other. She knew that he would feel the same as her if he were thrown headfirst into the muggle world. And Harry, well, Harry didn't know what the real muggle world was any more than Ron did. He didn't really understand.

There was a tapping on her window, and she looked up in surprise. An owl was sitting impatiently on the windowsill, as though just waiting for her to let it in. She sighed and got up to open the window for it. She glanced around, but there was nothing to eat in her room. She frowned, sighed again, and summoned a couple cookie crumbs, wondering if the owl would eat them. It looked at her, eyed the cookies disdainfully, and turned and flew out the window. Hermione watched it go, then turned to the letter that it had left. It was unsigned, and that piqued her curiosity enough to slit it open immediately. She withdrew a piece of stationary, and recognized it instantly as her mother's Christmas paper. An irrational warmth filled her at the sight of the familiar paper, and she just looked at the holly branch stationary for a moment before reading the actual letter.

_Dear Diana,_

_How long has it been since you were home for Christmas? Years, I'm sure. I know that you're with your friends, and I hope that you're having fun, but I miss you. We all miss you. Belle says that she doesn't care, but you know that she really does love you._

_Enough with the sentiments. I know that you don't care for them much. All's well with us, and I refuse to bore you with news from the surgery. You have your father for that. I'm sending your Christmas presents, as well as Harry's by _normal_ post. They're going to my sister, as I doubt that wherever you are is connected to FedEx. I still haven't gotten over this owl thing, and I shudder even to think what you use to send bigger things. They should arrive before Christmas._

_This paper is highly decorative and special, as I'm sure you remember, but it only holds about twice as much space as an average postcard. As I'm out of room, I must stop this now and wish you a merry Christmas. I hope that we'll see you over Easter._

_Love you,_

_Mum_

Hermione reread the letter, smiling uncontrollably. Once again, her mother had displayed an uncanny sense of timing. Her note had come just when Hermione needed it most, and she would forever be grateful for the small moments like these.

* * *

Hermione was bound and determined to get to church that Sunday. She hadn't been to a proper church in ages, and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until she realized that she could go again. She nagged Harry and Malfoy until they agreed to accompany her, and then spent all of Saturday evening debating what to wear. Finally, realizing that she had absolutely nothing suitable in her closet, she was reduced to transfiguring something. Her bank account wasn't full enough to justify buying something, and she was a decent enough spell caster to manage the transfigurations needed.

She laid out one of the miniscule dresses that Aunt Addy had given her, then closed her eyes. She carefully designed the dress she wanted in her mind's eye, and began to cast the charms that she needed. When she finally opened her eyes, a long black dress was lying in front of her. It was simple to the point of being severe, but when she tried it on, she found that it fit her perfectly. Though her figure wasn't as nice as she could have wished, the black cloth showed off what curves she had. It was modest enough for church, and with a pair of black high heels, she had to admire the effect. She wasn't willing to risk makeup, and her hair was best not even thought about. She would just have to hope that it controlled itself with only a simple brushing.

Harry started when she walked into his room the next morning. She'd warned him that she was going to come in early, and he was wearing clothes, but he wasn't pleased with her. He grumbled for a moment, then blearily kicked her out of his room while he got ready. She wasn't willing to burst into Malfoy's room in the same manner, so she only knocked on his door, waiting for him to open it himself. She delivered her message and, having received his irritated grunt as a response, padded back up to her room. Once there, she locked the door and drew on the black dress, carefully smoothing it down as she did so. A quick charm bound her shoes to her stockings: she wasn't used to heels, and she didn't want them to fall off when she started walking.

Ten minutes later, the three of them were on their way to a small corner church that Hermione had found a few days earlier. They mingled with the crowd, and Hermione reveled in the calm sereneness that saturated the atmosphere. Even with the people talking loudly and animatedly, she could still feel that she was in the presence of something more. It was the same feeling she'd had the first time she entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts: the sensation of being in a truly holy place. Malfoy and Harry apparently didn't feel the same way. They talked as loudly as anyone else, and only frowned when she turned to quiet them. She began to wonder if bringing them with her really had been the smartest idea.

Before she could continue that train of thought, the pastor came out and everyone hushed. He began to speak, and Hermione allowed herself to be carried away by a tide of ecstatic devotions. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this.

The congregation stood for the first hymn. Hermione nudged Harry hard with her shoe to get him to stand. He glared at her.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered.

She nodded towards the rest of the people. Harry grimaced, then reached down and dragged Malfoy up next to him. Hermione ignored them as the organ began to play. She knew the hymn by heart: it was one of the ones that they always sang around this time, and she didn't need the music book that was open in front of her to sing along. She allowed her voice to mingle with the others', feeling connected to the rest of humanity in a way she never did unless she was here.

As the hymn wound to a close, she sat down with a slight sense of regret. It would end soon, and when it did, she would lose the feeling of connection that warmed her at this moment. She would go back to being Hermione Granger, witch amongst muggles, and the sense of loss would be almost heartbreaking. It always was.

They filed out with the rest of the congregation after the sermon was over. Hermione fought to preserve the feelings that had been welling up inside her, but they bled away as she walked farther and farther up the rows of pews towards the door. Once they'd exited into the sunlight, Harry stretched. "That was… educational," he remarked.

Malfoy looked at him in surprise. "You've never been to church before, have you?"

"How can you tell?"

"If you had, you would have realized that the proper word for it is boring," Malfoy retorted.

"Hermione seemed to enjoy it," Harry pointed out.

Malfoy shrugged. "Granger is apparently a religious fanatic in hiding. Only fanatics go to church, you know."

"That's not true!" Hermione said, whirling to look him in the eye. How _dare_ he say things like that?! They were all lies, and he had no right to taint her morning with lies! "You know it's not! Take it back!"

He frowned, taken aback by her vehemence. "Pardon me?" he asked, swiftly regaining his composure.

Harry looked from one to the other, a frown on his face. "Not here!" he hissed, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort. "If you keep going, you'll end up with wands out and sparks flying. Do it back at the house, if you must."

Hermione glowered fiercely at Harry, but saw the sense in his words. She was the only one of the group who was of age, and it wouldn't make a very good impression on the Ministry officials who would come to arrest Malfoy if they were dueling in plain sight of an entire church's worth of muggles. She forced herself to nod.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get going," he said. Hermione began to walk, not even realizing that she was setting the pace. She wanted to get back to the house as quickly as possible so that she could do… something. She didn't know what she really wanted to do. Her gut instinct was to hide in her room and cry, but she'd grown out of that habit years ago. The mature, adult reaction would be to let everyone cool off a bit, then inform Malfoy that she didn't like his insulting her beliefs. Unfortunately, she wasn't disposed to being mature and reasonable right now.

Within no time, she was pushing the door open. Completely ignoring the two boys, she fled up the stairs and into her room. She closed the door and locked it, both physically and magically. She dropped down onto her bed, fighting to regain control of her emotions. It was completely irrational to be so affected by words. She'd known that Malfoy would react like that, hadn't she? Or at least, she'd suspected that he would. After all, he'd shown no signs at all of being reverent. Yet she'd allowed his words to hurt her so much. Why?

She dropped her head into her hands, trying to think. Music. She needed music. She looked around, seeing that Malfoy's wireless was still in her room. She'd forgotten to give it back, and he hadn't bothered to ask. She moved over to it and flipped it on, murmuring the charm that set it to playing muggle stations. She twirled the dial, looking for something to fit her mood. Loud and fierce, hopefully. It would drag her out of her self-pity and get her thinking properly. There! She didn't even bother listening to the words. The melody blasted out of the speakers loudly enough, and that was all that mattered.

She turned off the lights with a quick spell, and then as an afterthought moved over to the desk holding her Christmas tree. She lit her wand to find the matches, then quickly struck one and used it to light the miniature candles. She extinguished her wand and sat slowly back down, hardly listening as the wireless belted out rock songs. She was calming down now, and the events of the morning were receding into a more manageable picture.

Before she could think about it any longer, there was a soft knock on her door. She turned off the wireless and walked over to unlock the door and admit whoever it was. Harry stood outside, looking slightly worried. "Are you all right?" he asked, the moment she pulled open the door.

She nodded. "Yes," she said.

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Not your fault," she said dismissively. "He's a git. You're not responsible for his personality, you know."

He sighed. "I just feel so guilty. He's so nice around me, but then with others… well, you know how he is."

Hermione grinned slightly. "I do," she agreed. "Once again, it's not your fault. Only he determines who he is."

"I know," he said softly. "But it doesn't help."

"No it doesn't," she told him bluntly. "But it's nice to pretend that it does."

She'd surprised him. He burst out laughing, then quieted with a slight blush. Casting around for another topic, he asked, "Why are the lights off?"

Her grin was bigger this time. "I'm enjoying the pretend natural light. Come have a look." She held the door open wider, and he stepped into the room. She shut the door behind him, giving him time to take in the tree in all its glory. Hermione flattered herself thinking that she'd done a good job of decorating it so that the candlelight set all the ornaments off to their best advantage. Apparently she'd been right.

"It's beautiful," he breathed finally. "Where did you get it?"

"I've always had them," she said simply.

"Why isn't this downstairs? You could put it in a window, and people would see it as they walked home."

"Except that they wouldn't, since the house is protected by the charm," she pointed out.

He frowned, then flushed again. "I keep forgetting," he mumbled. "You're right, they wouldn't see it. But still, you should at least let _us_ see it!"

"You're seeing it right now, aren't you?"

"It's not the same, and you know it."

She sighed. "I'd just rather keep it up here. I might bring it down eventually."

He studied it in silence for another long moment, then finally sighed with regret. "I have to go down and start lunch," he said. "I'd rather not, but I didn't think that you would be willing to cook just yet."

"I'm not," she agreed. "Thanks for offering."

"Any time," he said graciously. "Thanks for showing me your tree."

She smiled at him. "You're welcome."

He took one last look at the tree, then walked out of the door, leaving it open a crack as he passed through. She could hear him thundering down the stairs, probably taking them two at a time. She had to grin. Apparently boys didn't change as they grew older.

The peaceful mood had left her again, but she didn't feel angry anymore either. With a sigh, she blew out the candles and left the room, closing the door all the way as she went.

* * *

Harry woke up early on Christmas morning out of habit. Years of living with Ron had made it impossible to sleep in on that most important day, and it took him a moment to remember that Ron wasn't there with them. Still, habits die hard, and he slipped out of bed, trying not to make too much noise. He padded down the stairs to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea. Holding the mug of scalding liquid in both hands, he walked into the living room to take a look at the presents piled under the Christmas tree. The last of them had arrived the night before, and combined, they formed a healthy stack. Harry set his mug down and quickly sorted through them, unconsciously counting them as he did so. He was just putting the last of his presents down in a neatly piled column when he heard Hermione ask, "Isn't that cheating?"

He glanced up, noting that she was holding her own mug of tea. He grinned. "As long as I don't open them, no. Yours are over there." He nodded to a similar column of presents across the room from him. She moved over and glanced at them, then shrugged.

"I'm not awake enough to care about presents," she confided. "Give me several more cups of tea and about half an hour and I'll care."

Harry nodded. "I could do with a bit of that myself," he admitted, snagging his cup of tea from the coffee table. He held it for a moment, allowing the warmth to permeate his bones, then took a long sip. The liquid burned down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure.

Hermione shivered slightly and pulled the bathrobe she was wearing tighter around herself. "It is freezing cold in this room," she observed.

"Then light a fire, Granger." Both of them looked up to see Draco leaning against the doorframe. He twisted his wand elegantly and said, "Incendio." The logs in the grate burst into flame, and a consistent warmth began to fill the room. Draco smirked. "Better now?"

Hermione nodded her thanks, and Harry smiled at Draco.

"Any chance of coffee in this house?" Draco asked, glancing at their cups.

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Go look."

Draco grumbled a reply and vanished into the kitchen. They heard him muttering unintelligible obscenities as he rummaged through the kitchen. Finally, he returned with his own mug filled with black liquid.

"There is no decent coffee," he announced.

"What's that?" Harry asked, nodding to the cup.

Draco grimaced. "Second rate stuff. It'll do, but next time you go to the store, I'd appreciate it if you'd buy some real coffee."

"I don't know what decent coffee looks like," Harry told him.

"I'll make you a list," Draco promised. He dropped onto the ground, landing gracefully with his legs crossed. They looked at the presents in silence for a long moment, then each summoned their own pile. By common consent, Harry opened his first.

"Oh look, Mrs. Weasley's sent me another sweater." He held up the garment so that they could both see it, then placed it aside. Next came chocolate from Ron and a supply of Apparating Apparatuses from the twins. He shoved both of these useful items with the sweater, and pulled open the heavy package from Hermione. Inside was a group of five books, all bearing the words _Earth's Children_. He glanced at her in askance. She shrugged.

"If you won't read school books, then you may as well learn to appreciate muggle classics. I think you'll like these." Harry grinned, thanked her, and put them with the rest, vowing at least to try to read them for her sake. The next present was from, of all people, Parvati, and he opened it with curiosity. He laughed out loud when he realized what she'd sent him.

"What is it?" Draco asked.

"A remembrall," Harry said. He quickly read her note.

_Harry. You promised to take me out on Easter. This is in case it happens to slip your mind. They've been upgraded to insult you in as obscure a fashion as they can until you remember what you forgot. Harry Christmas, Parvati_.

Harry read them the note, and both Hermione and Draco laughed. He quickly unwrapped candy from Hagrid, not touching any of it, and opened a small flat box that was from Belle. He pulled out a CD, looking at it in confusion.

Hermione held out a hand. "Let's see."

Harry handed it to her. She glanced at the case, then rolled her eyes. "Greenday. Belle's obsessed."

"Are they any good?"

She shrugged. "Decent, I guess.

"What is it?" Draco demanded.

"A CD," Harry said.

"And those are?"

"They play muggle music. Looks like you've got one too." Harry nodded to an identical package in Draco's pile.

"Wonderful," Draco said dryly. Hermione handed the CD back to Harry, and he tossed it back with the rest of his things. The package from Hermione's parents turned out to be a model of the Statue of Liberty. Ali's note explained that, no, it was not magic, but that she hoped that he'd like it anyway. He made a note to send her a thank you letter by muggle post.

Finally, Harry unrolled the tube from Ginny. It contained a single sheet of parchment on which there was a drawing of a walrus with a human face. He flipped it over and read what she had to say.

_Dear Harry, I certainly hope that this does not need explaining! Just so you know, I did not do the drawing, my good friend Emily did. I asked her especially, though she isn't in on the reason why. Happy Christmas. Love, Ginny._

Harry grinned hugely as he put the drawing aside. Draco looked at it curiously. Harry shrugged. "It's a _very_ long story," he said.

Draco grimaced but didn't say anything. He nodded to Hermione to open hers next, and she pulled her first package off the column. She opened her presents differently from Harry. He tore the paper off, not really caring if it got ripped or wrinkled. She carefully slit the cellotape and scotch tape that held the paper and folded it neatly, placing it in a neat stack next to her. She opened a book from her parents, a box of chocolates from Ron and a Weasley sweater without much comment. She slipped the paper of Draco's present, and stared down at the books in the box. Carefully, she lifted one out. "Outlander by Diana Gabbaldon," she read. "Who's she?"

"One of the few decent wizarding fiction authors," Draco explained. "She writes about muggles, but there's just enough hints of magic to make it clear to us, if not to muggles, that she's a witch. She's quite popular."

Hermione nodded and lifted the other five books out of the box, reading the titles to herself as she did so. Harry felt his eyes widen at the size of the volumes. What was it with gigantic books this year? Hermione opened Fred and George's present next, and smiled as she found one of their patented daydream charms. He wondered what they'd given her. He realized with a slightly uncomfortable start that he had no idea what kind of daydream Hermione would enjoy. His own present was last, and he watched her carefully as she pulled it out of the protective tube. She unrolled the poster, and grinned hugely at him. "You remembered!" she exclaimed, looking at the poster of the beautiful American figure skater.

He grinned back. "Of course I did," he said. "Just make sure Ron doesn't try to enchant her to move."

"I will," she assured him, carefully slipping it back into the tube.

From Belle, Hermione received a CD by a girl who called herself Avril Lavigne. Harry looked dubiously at the picture on the cover.

"Belle finds her clothes better than her music," Hermione commented.

"She would," Harry agreed. He glanced at Draco. "Your turn," he said. Draco shrugged, and opened his first package. He too was a careful opener, though he didn't save the paper like Hermione did. He opened a package of books from Blaise, grinned, and set them aside. The present from Pansy was much smaller, but, once opened, turned out to be a statue of a dragon. Draco read the note out loud, laughing as Pansy explained that it was capable of being enlarged to life-sized, but that it was unadvised to do so indoors. Draco carefully put the statue down next to his mug of coffee and turned to Harry's gift. He opened it carefully, then curiously lifted the lid off the box.

"Careful!" Harry said, but it was too late. A golden object whizzed out of the box, flitting around the room at top speed. Harry saw Draco's eyes latch onto it, just as his own had, and they moved as one in an attempt to capture the thing before it discovered the door into the rest of the house. Draco lunged, narrowly missed hitting the Christmas tree, and landed with the chocolate snitch safe in his grasp.

"What _is_ that?" he demanded, breathing heavily.

Harry grinned. "Chocolate snitches," he said. "If I were you, I'd keep the lid closed. They're charmed so that only one can escape at a time, but you never know."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Only you would give me something like that," he informed Harry.

"Chocolate or Quidditch," Harry reminded him, grinning slightly. "I gave you both at the same time. Aren't you even going to thank me?"

"Thank you very much," Draco told him, with all evidence of perfect sincerity. Harry didn't believe it for a second. Draco, jamming the snitch back into the metal box, picked up his last package. Once opened, it turned out to be a set of enormous books from Hermione.

"The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkein," Draco read. "Granger, why are you giving me muggle books?"

"You gave me wizarding ones," she retorted. "Besides, everyone should read the Lord of the Rings, it's a classic."

Draco shrugged, and opened the CD from Belle. Either the band was called Evanescence, or the album was. Harry couldn't tell, and Hermione's rolled eyes didn't make him any more confident. Draco looked at it oddly, shrugged, and picked up the last item. He opened the envelope with the help of the handle of his spoon. He read the note, then burst out laughing at the picture that came with it. He refused to tell either of them what he was laughing at, and only promised them that they would find out soon enough. Harry had to be content with that for the moment.

* * *

They didn't go out that day, preferring to curl up and play with their new toys. Harry and Draco directed a rather spirited game of Quidditch in the library, using Draco's chocolates and a model Quidditch team that Draco had discovered in his room. Harry, who didn't have such models to work with, improvised with Chess pieces. As the chocolate was slightly bigger than most of the players, they agreed that the first to brush it would win. Directing non-sentient players turned out to be much harder than it looked, and soon they were having to stop the game for minutes at a time as they renewed the flying charms on Harry's pieces, and Draco lectured his team about being nice.

"Now I know how Madam Hooch feels," Draco muttered, turning his Keeper loose once again. "I might even be nicer to her after this."

"_Might_?!"

"I'm still winning that Cup, Potter."

"In your dreams," Harry shot back. They sent their players back up into the air to continue the duel.

Hermione, meanwhile, had closeted herself in the living room with her new books, and they heard nothing out of her until nearly five hours later. In that time, Harry and Draco had caught four chocolate snitches (and eaten two of them), brought Draco's dragon to as close to life-sized as they could without breaking the ceiling, and attempted in vain to bring it to life.

"You do realize that, if you had managed to bring that thing to life, you'd just have had to kill it again," Hermione pointed out over dinner, as they recounted their adventures.

Harry shrugged. "We could have given it to Hagrid," he suggested. "He's still in mourning for Norbert."

Draco chocked. "You're saying that he had a dragon and he named it _Norbert_!?"

Hermione winced. "We did try to talk him out of it," she said plaintively. "He wouldn't listen to us."

"Where is it now?"

"In Rumania, with Ron's brother Charlie," Harry answered. "We sent it off during our first year. That's why we were in the halls when McGonagall gave us detention."

Draco grimaced, apparently still remembering that first foray into the forest. "When you said that you tried to talk him out of it, are you speaking of him having a dragon in the first place, or of him calling it Norbert?"

"Both," Harry said instantly. "Though I suppose Norbert is better than Fluffy."

Draco waited a beat, presumably for some sort of explanation, then demanded, "Fluffy?"

Hermione sighed. "It's a long story," she said, and Harry knew that Draco would have to be content with that. It was clear that no more would be forthcoming from Hermione, and Harry himself was not at all eager to recall the events that tied in with Fluffy. Draco looked from one to the other, the grimaced.

"How much will it cost me to know the entire story?" he asked.

Harry glanced at Hermione. "Far too much," he said. "It's not worth it, trust me."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it?" he inquired.

"It is," Hermione said firmly. She pushed her chair back from the table and carried her empty plate to the sink. A quick spell cleaned it, and she put it away again. "Happy Christmas to both of you. I'm going to bed."

Draco snorted. After Hermione had vanished through the door he said, "Ten to one she's going to read all the books before she goes to sleep."

Harry raised his eyebrows, remembering the size of the books.

"Well, at least the first one," Draco amended.

Harry grinned. "True," he agreed. "Of course, you're going to do the same thing."

Draco only grinned, not denying it for a moment.

"At least you've only got three to read," Harry said. "I've got _five_!"

"I'm sure it won't kill you," Draco told me. "It'll do you good to take some time off from Quidditch for book learning."

"_You're_ asking me to take time off from Quidditch?" Harry demanded.

"It shouldn't dictate one's life," Draco said firmly.

"Oh really? And why not?"

"Because there are more important things out there."

Harry grimaced. "Maybe. But Quidditch is by far the most fun of all of them. Why shouldn't we have some fun once in a while?"

"I didn't say that we shouldn't. I said that it shouldn't dictate our lives."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, it doesn't at this point. Still, given the choice, I'd rather Quidditch dictate my life than some of the things that do right now."

Draco didn't contradict him, and after a moment he excused himself as well. Harry didn't doubt that he too had gone directly to the living room and picked up the first book in the series. He supposed that he should do the same, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move. He couldn't quite forget the thoughts that had been drifting through his mind all day, especially when he was alone with Draco.

* * *

_Author's note 2: _hihi, finally, harry realizes what he should have known all along!

**Kyra, be quiet! You'll give it all away!**

-pouts- but it's exciting!

_You heard Caroline. Shut up now or else!_

or else what?

_Or else I won't post anymore. You don't want that on your concience, do you?_

-gasps- you wouldn't do that... would you?

_Of course I would._

-sighs- sorry people. i can't say anymore. be patient. slash will come. we promise!

--kyra, **Caroline**_, Tamara_


	13. 5: realization 4

_Author's note: Okay, I admit it. Part of this chapter is a shameless self-insert. Only one of us is in here, but even so... I'll give you a hint: all four of the girls are real, and one of them is one of us. I'll leave you to guess who. And yeah, it's more self-indulgence. -shrugs-  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not JK Rowling's characters, not my skating dress, not my friends, not the music I listened to while writing this (though I can't actually remember what it was...)  
--Tamara_

**Extra Author's note: We've been getting a LOT of anonymous reviews lately. While we don't mind them at all, we would rather you leave an email address so that we can answer you. It makes us feel rather guilty if we can't get into contact. If you really don't feel comfortable giving out your email, we understand, but, otherwise, please do include it. That way, you'll get an email from us, and we'll have the satisfaction of talking to our readers! It's a win win situation!  
--Caroline

* * *

**

I had been ecstatic when Granger had suggested going ice-skating. I hadn't skated in years, but at one point, I'd been quite good. A byproduct of being rich was that we had a pond on our grounds. It froze every winter, and I'd practiced for as long as I could remember. Of course, ever since I'd been at school, I'd avoided returning to the Manor over Christmas. The less time I spent there the better. Even so, I was sure that my body hadn't forgotten how to skate. It's the kind of thing that you don't forget.

Harry had never been skating, and Granger had only done a few months of lessons. I informed them that they could rent skates, but that I was going to get my own. Harry looked at me in amazement.

"You have skates?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I have skates. I even have skates that fit." I closed my eyes and pictured the boots, hoping that I could do the long distance summoning. It was more like making an object Apparate to you, and it wasn't hard. In theory. In practice, it required far more concentration than most spells, as well as a very good visual memory.

Even so, several moments later, I held a pair of black designer figure skates. Granger gaped in envy as I checked them to make sure that they were uninjured. A swift charm sharpened the blades again, and I slipped off my shoes to try them on. They felt as good as I remembered. I grinned in pleasure at the feel of the stiff leather against my ankles and feet. This was going to be amazing.

We arrived at the rink and Harry and Granger rented skates while I moved off to put mine on. They joined me a moment later, and I caught Harry furtively watching me to see how I tied them. I laughed. "It's not hard," I said. I demonstrated. He tried. I burst out laughing as he failed utterly. I showed him again, and he once again failed. At his third attempt, I gave up and tied them for him. The contact made my breathing speed up, and I kept my face firmly fixed on his skates to avoid his seeing the blush that stained my cheeks. We were having far too much fun for _that_ to ruin our day. He gasped as I pulled the laces tight, and I grinned again. "Sorry," I said, not sorry at all. "That's the way it works."

"You are cutting off the circulation," he ground out.

I shook my head. "Nope. If you tie them too loose, then they will provide you with no support whatsoever, and you will never get anywhere."

"I'm not intending to go professional, you know," he informed me, reaching down to loosen the laces.

I batted his hand away. "It doesn't matter," I told him firmly. "You asked me to tie them for you, and that's what I'm doing. Now let me do it for you!"

He sighed, but allowed me to attach the other one to his foot and pull it tight. When I was finished, I stood again. He tried to stand, buckled, and dropped back onto the bench. I grinned. He glared at me, and stood again. Sheer willpower kept him upright, and he held his arms out for balance as Granger finished tying her own skates and stood as well. She wasn't nearly as competent as I was, but she managed to stay upright by her own power. Holding Harry between us, we made our way to the ice. I stepped on first, rejoicing in the feeling of once again having ice beneath my feet. I abandoned Harry and Granger and took off, getting back into the rhythm of the strokes and forgetting everything but the pure physical pleasure of skating. I turned easily, testing myself to see just how rusty I was. Not as much as I'd feared, considering. I could stand, I could stroke, and I almost felt confidant to try some of the more advanced moves again. I glanced over at Granger and Harry, making their way carefully around the edge of the rink, and couldn't resist showing off for them. Well, for Harry. I altered my edge, going into a series of almost controlled crossovers and wound into a spin. It wasn't as nice as I'd once been able to manage, but it would do. Coming up slowly, I flashed Harry a grin, deftly switching feet and dipping down once again. Finally, my momentum slowed, and I stepped out of the rotation. I felt dizzy, and closed my eyes, hoping that the world would have stopped spinning when I opened them. I opened them again, and the world had indeed stopped spinning. Instead, it appeared to be filled with girls. Four of them, to be exact. I looked at them warily, trying to place them. I doubted that I knew any of them, or that they knew me, which put them as muggles. All four of them wore good-quality skates, and they were standing easily.

"You're good," one of them, a vaguely Asian-looking one with short black hair commented. She spoke with an American accent, and I had to restrain a laugh at the sound. It was very different from what I was used to. The others nodded.

I shrugged. "I'm out of practice."

A tall brown haired one with glasses grimaced. "Wish _I_ was that good out of practice." She took spoke with that same accent, and, though I know nothing about accents, I judged that they were from the same place.

I grinned, deciding to enjoy myself. "Well, I _was_ damn good before that."

The one with glasses grinned back. "You were modest too, apparently."

"Modesty comes with age."

They exchanged glances, apparently trying to guess how old I was. I let them guess, wondering how far off the mark they would be. The only blond in the group asked, "So what grade are you in?"

"I'm a sixth year."

There was a moment's pause while they calculated this into American grades. The shorter brown-haired one nodded. "Then you're as old as Anne."

I waited for them to realize that they hadn't introduced themselves. Apparently realizing this, the tall brown-haired girl grinned. "I'm the Anne in question, by the way. I'm sixteen. That's Sara," she gestured to the black-haired one, "she's fifteen. Jana's thirteen," this was the shorter brown-hair "and Judaea's fourteen," this to the blond.

"That's convenient," I drawled. "Draco. And yes, I am sixteen. I turn seventeen in June."

Anne sighed. "July," she said. A crafty look came over her face. "I wonder if I can convince my parents to let me have my license by then."

"They should!" Judaea insisted. "You're responsible enough behind the wheel!"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Try convincing my _mother_ of that," she complained. "She persists on thinking that I'll get distracted and crash."

"Sounds a lot like my mother," I said dryly.

Sara looked at me. "Do _you_ have your license yet?"

I shook my head, wondering whether to elaborate. To tell the truth, I had no idea which license they were talking about, though I was certain that I didn't have one.

Anne shrugged. "You live in London, right?"

I nodded. It was close enough.

"Then he won't need one. Lots of people in London don't drive. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"Can't you drive in London?" Jana queried.

"You _can_," Anne said. "But you can't park, and it's way too expensive anyway. What with the subway and the buses and all, it's a lot easier just to walk where you need to go. My aunt and uncle live here," she told me. "He's a bicycle courier, and she's taken to riding everywhere with him."

They all nodded their understanding. Fortunately, they seemed to have exhausted this topic, because Judaea looked at me. "So how good _are_ you?"

I shrugged. "As I said, I'm out of practice. I used to be rather good, though."

"Do you have you axel?" Judaea queried.

"I used to. I haven't tried yet. Do you?"

All four of them nodded. Anne grimaced. "Mine's not consistent, but I've landed it a couple times." She and Jana exchanged matching eye-rolls. Sara looked smug, and Judaea hurried to reassure Anne that hers would be consistent soon.

Anne sighed. "I doubt it," she said dryly. "Seeing the amount of time it takes me to get most jumps…"

The others exchanged glances, and Anne explained, "I'm not a natural jumper; I'm a spinner. Jumps… well, they don't come naturally to me."

I nodded. "I know how you feel."

"So show us what you can do," Jana said suddenly.

"If I fall over, then I forbid you to laugh," I warned. They all agreed, and I took a deep breath. "And I get to warm up first. I refuse to go into an Axel cold."

"Good point," Sara agreed. "For that matter, I should probably warm up myself. Brian wants to see what I can do."

"Brian's her boyfriend," Jana said, rolling her eyes. I suspected that Anne and Jana were related, but I wasn't sure. All four girls were obviously best friends, and all treated each other like sisters. Maybe they all were. Maybe none of them were related at all. It was impossible to tell.

I started warming up, beginning with the easier jumps and gradually working my way up to the more complex ones. I had, at one point, landed a double axel cleanly, but that had been a long time ago, and I doubted my ability to do so now. It wouldn't do for them all to see me fall over. I hate falling over, even in skating. It's all a matter of pride.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer. I skated faster, stepped forward, and put all of my momentum into the jump. It was perfect, and I felt that all too rare sensation of flying off the ice on an invisible broomstick. I landed cleanly, and stopped just in front of where Harry and Granger were watching. Harry let go of the wall to clap, then swiftly grabbed it again. I looked at him pityingly.

"You know, falling doesn't hurt _that_ much," I commented. "Especially if you go fast."

He looked horrified at the thought. "That's all very well for _you_," he said. "But I have never done this before, and I do not intent to topple over."

I shrugged. "If you say so. Try to make it around at least once before we have to go."

The girls had skated over, and I introduced Harry and Granger. They watched Harry take a few careful steps, then Anne commented, "Not to seem too bossy, but it works better if you don't push with your toes. Trust me, I know." She grimaced at the memory of falls.

"Then where are you supposed to push?" Harry demanded, watching her.

She demonstrated the proper way to stroke, pushing neatly off her edge and extending her leg behind her. She came to a stop and glanced over her shoulder, turning easily around as she did so. "Grace comes with practice," she said. "And with your friends," this was directed at Judaea, who shrugged.

"It's not _my_ fault!"

"Yes it is. I caught gracefulness from _you_, you know!"

"That's a good thing, though," Judaea countered.

"I'm not saying that it's not. I'm saying that it's your fault," Anne shot back. She grinned at her friends and mine, then took off with a couple of swift, efficient strokes. She moved easily into a series of crossovers, and stepped into a spin. She _was_ a good spinner, though she obviously hadn't perfected the one she was doing now. She leaned back over her upraised leg, raising her arms to the sky. Her momentum slowed finally, and she came out, doubling back to glance at the ice that held the remains of the spin. She grimaced.

Jana skated over to join her. "You're traveling again," she commented.

Anne nodded. "Yup. Better than it used to be, though."

Jana laughed. "That's true," she agreed.

Harry was looking at them in confusion. "What are they talking about?" he asked.

"When you spin, you leave marks on the ice," Sara explained. "Anne's notorious for traveling. Moving while you spin," she added, seeing him about to ask for clarification. "Look." She snapped into a simple spin, held it for several rotations, then came out. "See, that's the trace." She pointed to the spin marks on the ice. "That's the three-turn, and my spin's centered around it." She traced those features as she mentioned them. "Now, if I spin badly," she snapped into another spin, this one far less controlled. She came out of it a little ways away, and skated back. "The spin travels away from the starting three-turn."

"Why's it called a three-turn?" Harry asked.

"It looks like it," Sara explained. "See?"

He bent down to look at what she was pointing at, and promptly toppled over. I laughed, and he looked reproachfully up at me. "It hurts," he said defensively.

"Hurts less if you go fast," Anne called. "Remember?"

"You are _capable_ of going fast," Harry called back. "I've never been on ice skates before."

Judaea shrugged. "You can always learn," she suggested brightly. Sara nodded, and grinned.

Harry looked at me. "Are you going to let me sit here all day, or will you help me up?"

I reached down and hauled him up, grateful that his gloves didn't allow for skin contact. I had no desire for _any_ of the present company to see me turning red. He grinned at me as I maneuvered him back to the wall.

"This may take more practice than I thought," he admitted ruefully.

Anne and Jana, who had come back while I was helping Harry. Anne grinned. "Everything takes practice," she informed him. "But this is worth it."

Granger looked at the girl, balancing easily on her skates. "How long have you been skating?"

She frowned, counting silently. "About six years, I think. Actually, I've been _skating_ since I was about seven, but I didn't do it seriously until I was ten. That's when I met them." She nodded towards the other three.

"Do you compete?" Granger asked.

Anne shrugged. "Some. I'm working on a program right now, but it's not done."

"Do it for us," Harry suggested.

She glanced around, calculating the number of people likely to interfere with her skating. Apparently she found the number sufficiently small, because she shrugged. "All right. Daea? Music?"

Judaea nodded, and skated off to the sides, lightly stepping into the hockey box. Sara and Jana stayed with us, watching as Anne got into position. She glanced up at Judaea, nodded, then looked back down at the ice. Judaea did something to the muggle object that she was bending over. There was a beat of silence, then music began to filter through the rink.

The music was darker, as though telling people that they were frightened and that this was how they should feel. I could sense it in my veins, and I fought the urge to skate to it myself. Instead, I forced myself to watch her. She was decent, I decided. Nowhere near professional level, of course, but very few skaters ever get that far. She felt the music, I thought. I wasn't sure how much she realized it, but I could see that she heard it as she skated. She completed her last jump, lowered her arms gracefully, and bowed her head as the last strains of the music ended.

Harry and Granger clapped enthusiastically. She grinned, skating over to us. She was breathing slightly heavily, and as she approached us, she pulled off the black sweater that she'd been wearing, revealing a black T-shirt with the words 'Fetchez la vache' written in white letters. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"Monty Python," she said. "It's from Spamalot."

Granger's eyes lit up. "Did you see it?"

She nodded. "Last year. Utterly amazing. I had the T-shirt before then, though."

"What's Spamalot?' I demanded.

Anne grinned at me. "You ever heard of Monty Python?"

I shook my head.

Granger glanced at me. "I'll explain later," she told me.

"Well, Spamalot is a play that's been, and here I quote, 'lovingly ripped from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.' Fantastic movie. Better play."

I decided not to ask any more questions. I'd felt ignorant enough for one day.

Harry looked at me, sensed my discomfort, and changed the subject. "Why didn't you ever tell us that you could skate?"

I shrugged. "It never came up. There's nowhere to do it at school, and no rink at the village."

Sara frowned. "You go to boarding school?"

Jana rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ they go to boarding school! This is _England_!"

They all looked to Anne, who grimaced. "What are you all looking at _me_ for? Ask _them_! _They_ live here, not me!"

They turned to us, and I turned to Granger. She was the one who knew muggles, not me. She shrugged. "Yes, we go to a boarding school. I don't know how common it is anymore, though."

"Do you have a uniform?" Judaea wondered.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Sara grimaced. "That's not fair," she said. "School uniforms suck!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Do they?"

She nodded emphatically. "Yes. You can't show your individualism and everyone looks the same!"

"That _is_ the point," Anne reminded her.

"You agree with it?" Sara demanded.

Anne shook her head. "No! But that's the point to them."

"Well I _still_ don't like them."

"You don't have to. Arapahoe doesn't have any."

Sara grinned. "Good thing too. If they did, then I wouldn't follow it, and I'd be in so much trouble!"

"Same for me," Anne agreed. "If Littleton had one…"

They all groaned, and I chose not to comment. We advanced again, with Granger and me supporting Harry once more. I felt a desire to skate as fast as possible, but repressed it nobly. For Harry's sake, I would forgo my race around the perimeter of the ice.

The girls followed us, talking about subjects that I didn't know anything about. There seemed to be something about music, and something about a movie that they'd seen, but I didn't pay much attention. Muggle culture was never my strong point, and I didn't know anything about any of the things that they mentioned.

Eventually, Harry and Granger left the ice. I myself wasn't tired at all, and years of skating long ago had strengthened my ankles enough to withstand the pressure I was putting on them.

Sara watched them go, then glanced at me. "Shall we see what you can _really_ do?"

I shrugged. "What do you want to see? I don't guarantee that I can do everything, but I'll try."

"What's the hardest jump that you can do?" Judaea asked.

"At one point I could land a double axel. I doubt I can now."

"Try," she suggested. I shook my head.

"I'd rather return to school in one piece." And I'd rather not fall over in front of Harry.

Anne nodded. "I know exactly how you feel," she agreed. "I have a deeply ingrained fear of falling. My brain knows that it won't hurt, but my psyche says differently."

"So what _are_ you willing to show us?" Sara demanded.

I shrugged. "I showed you a single axel, didn't I? Seems to me that it's _you_ who should be showing me. You all said that you had yours."

They glanced at each other, then shrugged. By mutual consent, though I didn't know how they communicated between themselves, Sara went first. She was fast and her jump lifted her quite high up, but she lacked a little control, just as I had. Judaea's jump was graceful, elegant, and… for lack of a better word, flowy. Jana hardly jumped at all, but she had very good control. Anne's jump wasn't particularly high either, and she landed it wrong, putting her foot down to stop from falling over. She grimaced.

"See? I hate jumping."

Sara laughed. "You're a spinner. I'm a jumper."

"So spin," I told Anne. "You're good at that, right?"

She shrugged, and went into another spin. It wasn't the layback that the last one had been, but a combination scratch/sit/change-foot. She was good, though she _did_ tend to travel a lot. She looked meaningfully at her friends, who shrugged in turn, and went into their own spins. Without being told, I did the same.

When I came out, I realized with a start that I was having _fun_! I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so detached from the worries of life and the problems that come with being the only son of a Death Eater. With the muggle girls, I could be just Draco. They had no idea who I was, and they didn't want to. They accepted me as another talented skater, and they treated me as such. We baited each other, challenging everyone to harder and harder feats of skill. After a while, we just skated around the rink, talking about totally random things. By the time the zamboni came out to resurface, I was laughing about something completely innocuous. The four of them followed me over to where Harry and Granger were sitting, and efficiently untied their skates. I followed suit, drying off the blades with a towel lent to me by Anne. They wound the laces around their skates and packed them away carefully. Together, they stood up. Sara grinned at me.

"Hope to see you again," she said.

I shrugged. "Maybe," I agreed. "I don't know if we'll come back."

"You should compete," Judaea told me. "You'd win."

"I don't compete," I said flatly.

Judaea looked about to comment more, but Anne stopped her. "I don't much either," she told me. She glanced at her watch, a black band with a fairy whose wings were the hour and minute hand. It seemed a little childish for her, and I raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I'm a child in spirit," she said. "And I'm allowed to wear Tinkerbell on my wrist."

"I didn't say that you weren't," I objected, wondering just who Tinkerbell could be.

"We've got to go, though," Anne said. "My aunt's expecting us in about fifteen minutes, and we've got to navigate the London subway." She rolled her eyes. "Amazingly practical, but highly confusing."

Granger laughed. "You just have to be born here to understand it," she assured them. "It _does_ make sense."

"Of course it does," Anne agreed. "Just not to me."

"You're American," Granger told her.

"Yup," Anne said cheerfully. "Come on!" The four of them grinned at us, and left the rink swiftly. Harry watched them go, then turned to me.

"You make friends easily," he said dryly.

"No. I talk to people when they come up to _me_. There's a difference."

"Not much of one."

"Enough to make a difference."

I rolled my eyes, choosing not to answer.

We returned to the house by bus, not talking much. My body was informing me in no uncertain terms that it _hadn't_ skated in years, thank you very much, and it intended to punish me for overdoing it so much on the first time back. From Harry's periodical winces at a particularly hard bounce, I deduced that his own body was giving him similar messages. I couldn't wait to get back to the house, where I could treat myself to massage charms. They're not taught in most schools, and certainly not at Hogwarts, but my mother is rather fond of them. I learned them early.

Harry unlocked the door and passed through the front hall. After a few days of being periodically shrieked at, Harry had snapped and placed a permanent silencing charm on the portrait. Its occupant now spent her days glowering at anyone who passed, including me. We'd all learned to ignore her. The House Elf was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't unusual either. He'd taken to sulking in the attic more and more, and, as Harry put it, no one missed him. Not even Granger tried too hard to talk him into coming down to the rest of the house.

I retreated to my room as soon as I'd sent the skates back to their home in my closet at the Manor. Once inside, I stripped down to my underwear and flopped gratefully down onto the bed. I muttered the series of incantations that made up the massage charms and promptly went to sleep, allowing my muscles to enjoy their much needed pampering.

* * *

Hermione woke up rather stiff but not too sore the next morning. She had planned to spend the day exploring the library and getting a head start on some of her homework for the beginning of term, but Harry had other plans.

"Harry, are you sure that this is a good idea?" she asked, looking deeply skeptical. "I mean, why would you want to spend most of your day watching loud movies?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't have to come. I've never actually been to a real movie at a theater, and I kind of want to."

Malfoy stuck his head though the door into the kitchen. "What exactly are your two talking about?" he asked.

Harry quickly explained the notion of movies, and Malfoy laughed. "And you _pay_ to go see this?"

Harry nodded.

Malfoy looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then shrugged. "If there is anything worth seeing, then I'm game."

Hermione sighed. She knew well enough that she was outnumbered, and even seeing a stupid movie would be better than staying here with Kreacher. Humanitarian views notwithstanding, Kreacher gave her the creeps. "_Is_ there anything worth seeing?"

Harry shrugged, and pulled out a muggle newspaper that he'd gotten from somewhere. He flipped to the movie page, and the three of them bent down to look. Most of what was playing was trash. Hermione instantly skipped over the mushy romances and the satirical comedies: she didn't find it funny to laugh at other people's troubles, and mush made her want to gag. Harry's finger came down on one title: Star Wars.

Hermione lifted her eyebrows and looked at him. "You expect _me_ to go see _that_?" she asked, incredulous.

Harry shrugged. "It looks moderately interesting, slightly more entertaining, and loud enough to talk through."

Hermione's eyebrows stayed lifted. "And that's your criteria for choosing movies, is it?"

"There's nothing wrong with my method," he protested, hurt. "I think it's a fine set of guidelines!"

"Especially as it doesn't appear to have a proper storyline," Malfoy added.

Hermione sighed. "You are paying for my ticket," she informed Harry. "I am going as a favor to you, but you had _better_ pay for me to be there!"

"Your wish is my command," he said, grinning.

"Your money is, anyway," Hermione shot back. She glanced at her watch. "And if we intend to make the two o'clock showing, we'd better leave now. The theater's _miles_ away!"

Harry grinned. "Aren't we going to eat first?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him in disbelief. "And just how late do you intend to step into that room?"

"Not late at all. We can use these." He swished his wand and a small leather bag zoomed into the room. He caught it deftly, and pulled it open, spilling several marbles onto the table. Hermione caught one before it rolled onto the floor, and examined it closely.

"Pardon my ignorance, but _what_ exactly are these?"

"Apparating Apparatuses. Fred and George developed them over the summer."

"And do they do what I think they do?"

He nodded. "Instant Apparition, wherever you want to go. All you need is your wand."

Malfoy looked incredulous. "You're telling me that these _things_ make you Apparate?"

"Yup."

"How?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea. Fred and George are geniuses, and they don't share their secrets with anyone."

"And they're safe?" Hermione couldn't help the question: it tumbled unwanted out of her lips.

"Do you think that Fred and George would hand out things that weren't safe?" Harry snapped. "They _do_ have a reputation, you know!"

"Well, it's just that some of their ideas aren't… appropriate."

"Hermione, these are perfectly safe. Trust me, I've tried them!"

Malfoy looked interested. He was eyeing the Apparatuses greedily. "And they work _everywhere_?"

Harry shot an apologetic grin at him. "They don't work at Hogwarts, if that's what you mean. Anywhere you can't Apparate normally out of, your can't use these. They said that they'd try to get around that, but this version is mainly for either people who don't like side-along, or people who can't Apparate yet and want to go places on their own."

"They shouldn't be selling them to under aged wizards!" Hermione said, appalled. There were times when the twins went too far, and this was shaping up to be one of them.

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"Well, there's a _reason_ that you can't get a license until you're seventeen! Younger wizards have neither the concentration nor the discipline to use it correctly." She knew that she sounded stuffy and like a textbook, but didn't they understand? Rules were there for a reason, and whenever you tried to get around them, you would invariably get in more trouble than you bargained for. She should know, after all.

"What if you needed to escape?" Malfoy said quietly. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him in surprise. It was impossible to forget his presence in the room, but he'd said so little that Hermione had almost forgotten the fact that he was paying attention.

She had to acknowledge his point, though. Harry smirked in triumph, and he and Malfoy exchanged grins.

"If we're going to make it, even _with_ these, we really _do_ have to get going," Hermione pointed out finally. "And if you want to eat, Harry, then it'll have to be fast. It's almost one already."

Harry nodded. "Then shall we go?" He pulled his wand out of his pocket and tapped the Apparatus, speaking the destination as though into a fire treated with floo powder. He popped it into his mouth, swallowed, then vanished with a loud crack. Malfoy went next, grimacing as the Apparatus went down. Finally, Hermione was the only one left in the kitchen. She glanced around, making sure that everything was in order, then swept the remaining Apparatuses into the bag and shoved it into her pocket along with her wallet. She looked at the blue marble in her hand skeptically, then shrugged, and tapped it with her wand. She swallowed, noting how it was much easier to get down than she'd thought. She felt a disintegrating sensation, and opened her eyes to find Harry and Malfoy looking at her. She pulled the bag of extras out of her pocket and tossed them to Harry.

"Thought you might want these," she said casually.

Harry looked at her gratefully. "You're a star, Hermione," he said. "We might have had a hard time getting home otherwise."

Hermione nodded. "Why do you think I brought them, genius? Honestly, the things I do to keep you happy!"

"But you do them so well!"

"Don't press your luck," she warned. "Are we going to stand here all day, or is food actually going to be consumed?"

Harry grinned. "Step this way," he said, stepping into the stream of foot traffic. Hermione and Malfoy dutifully followed him into a restaurant. It wasn't too crowded, for which Hermione was grateful. She hated crowded restaurants, and went out of her way to avoid them. Harry caught a waiter's eye, and he came to lead the three of them to a table in a corner. Malfoy took the corner seat, while Hermione positioned herself across from him. Harry hesitated, then slipped in next to Malfoy, looking apologetically at Hermione. She shrugged.

The food was decent, and the music was tolerable, as were the prices. Hermione paid her own bill, leaving Harry to handle Malfoy's expenses. She hoped that they'd worked something out for paying back, because Harry was spending rather a lot of money on Malfoy. She didn't say anything, though, preferring to let the two of them work it out on their own. Neither one would appreciate her meddling.

* * *

I had spent much of the trip watching the interaction between Harry and Granger. I knew that they weren't in love –he had the Weasley girl for that– but I wasn't sure exactly what kind of relationship they had. I knew they were friends, of course, but I didn't know any specifics. As I studied them while they were alone together, I realized gradually that they treated each other like siblings. They argued over little things, teased each other mercilessly, and seemed sometimes to be able to read each other's minds. During the entire argument about Apparating, for example, Harry had seemed prepared for every single one of Granger's objections, which meant that he'd known what she would say before she said it.

I, on the other hand, was not entitled to this prior knowledge of Granger's thought-process, and I found her objections both stupid and dangerous. Granted, she'd almost certainly had a sheltered childhood, but surely her adventures with Harry and Weasley had made her aware of the dangers of the world! I didn't realize at the time that that was exactly why she was objecting. Later, I would come to understand just how much she really did realize, but just then, I had no idea, and my estimation of her intelligence dropped several notches.

We finished our meal rapidly and Harry and Granger paid the bill. Harry paid for my meal without asking, and I promised myself that I would make him tell me just how much money he'd been spending on me. Malfoy's don't take charity.

We walked briskly over to a building with large posters advertising muggle movies. I noticed the one for our movie, and glanced at it. The battleships and light swords looked entertaining, if not exactly high quality. Harry paid for the three of us, then led us into the theater. Granger took her ticket and put it into the pocket of her jeans, saying that she had to stop in the Ladies Room for a second. Harry and I walked on ahead, and I tried to take it all in without being obvious. All the posters were (of course) motionless, but they managed to convey a sense of what the film was about anyway. I read some of the titles, and grinned. Really, sometimes muggles come up with the most amazing things!

Our tickets directed us to theater six, and Harry pulled open the door, allowing me to pass into a darkened room full of seats. I let him pick, realizing that I had no idea where would be ideal, and he moved up towards the middle. The theater was fairly full, and he had to hurry to find three seats next to each other. He wisely put himself in the middle, with me on his left and Granger on his right, when she finally arrived. She slipped in just as the room darkened, and Harry waved her over. She made her way past the people sitting in the way, and dropped into the seat, letting out her breath. Pictures began to appear on the screen, and I watched, fascinated. I didn't _think_ that muggles could have enchanted the pictures, seeing as how they don't have magic, but I was at a loss as to how they managed to get them there.

"It's a projector," Harry whispered, seeing my bewilderment. "They film the actors –don't ask me how it works because I have no idea– and then project the film onto the screen."

I nodded. We watched the trailers for the movies, and I wondered just how many of them there were. They seemed to go on endlessly! Finally, the actual film that we'd paid to watch came up.

I had to admit that it was far more entertaining than I'd expected. I didn't really care for any of the characters much, but the storyline was acceptable, and the battle scenes looked genuine, though I knew well enough that they weren't. Harry told me that they were done with computers, but he didn't know any more. However they were created, they managed to convey the sense of battle without the actual aftermath. I liked how they skipped from the end of the battle to the characters receiving medals for bravery. They completely skipped over all of the agonizing over dead companions and being comforted by the Princess. I had to admit, I was grateful. I get far too much of that in my own life to appreciate it in fiction.

We stumbled out of the theater at last, blinking owlishly in the bright sunlight. I shrugged my coat back on, having removed it in the theater. It was December, after all, and the brisk wind that rustled through the trees was _cold_! We hurried over to a secluded area, hidden behind a large brick wall. The wall had the added benefit of cutting the wind, and I relaxed my shoulders a bit. Harry passed out the silvery objects that would transport us back to the house, and we each pulled out our wands and sent ourselves there. Harry pushed open the door and walked into the house, earning a fierce glare from the muted portrait. He ignored her, but I glowered back.

Granger sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, yanking off her coat and draping it neatly on the back of her seat. "That was… interesting," she remarked.

"I liked it," Harry announced. "Didn't you?"

"It had its good moments," I conceded. "Rather unrealistic, even allowing for the subject matter."

Harry shrugged. "There's only so much you can do," he observed. "Technology has far more limitations than magic."

"So far," Granger cut in. "I have my doubts about how much longer that will be true, though."

I stared at her. "Come again," I said incredulously. "You seriously expect me to believe that muggle technology can outdistance magic?"

She nodded. "Eventually. After all, look at the rate of invention of muggle technology and magic. They've come out with countless new models and even whole new gadgets in the time it's taken wizards to create, what, three spells? Soon, muggles will be able to do everything that we can. They can already travel across oceans in a matter of hours in relative comfort."

"We can travel in a matter of seconds," I pointed out, a little cynically. Did she seriously expect me to buy into all of this?

"When were portkeys invented?" she countered.

I shrugged. "Hundreds of years ago," I admitted. "But there's no point in improving them. They get their job done."

"That's exactly my point!" she said triumphantly. "Wizards have one set of things that work and they stick to them. Muggles are forever improving their technology. How many wizards have been to the moon, for example?"

"What would be the point of going to the moon?" I demanded.

"To say that you've been there," she answered automatically. "It was a really big thing a few years ago. But then, you wouldn't know that because you don't get muggle news, do you?"

"Why should I care about what's going on in the muggle world?" I asked scornfully.

"Because, like it or not, there's a lot more of them than there are wizards," Granger said flatly. "We just have to live with it."

I snorted. "Why? They have their lives and we have ours. There's no point in interacting."

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you pure-bloods are such snobs!" she complained. "You _have_ to interact with muggles! If you don't, then they'll just drive you completely out of existence!"

"Are you suggesting that we just break the Secrecy Statute and reveal ourselves to muggles left and right?"

"No! Wizards have tried that, and it didn't work. I don't think that human nature has evolved enough to be able to cope with the full truth yet. But you can't just dismiss them completely. That's as absurd as dismissing all the women, senior citizens, disabled people, and children because they don't bring anything to the population."

"It's not the same," I objected. "At least the women, seniors, disabled, and children are all muggles. This is more like distinguishing between types of dogs. We're all dogs, but some are better than others, and the better ones don't interact with the lesser ones."

She sighed. "You obviously haven't spent much time around dogs, have you?" she demanded.

"Enough," I retorted. "And if you have a better metaphor, I would love to hear it."

"This is fascinating and all," Harry interrupted. "But can you not discuss it here?"

She turned to him in surprise. "Why not?" she demanded. "It's relevant, after all."

"Yes, but only in an academic setting," he objected.

"In an _academic_ situation?" she repeated incredulously. "I think that you've been spending far too much time with him." She nodded at me.

"As much as you have," he pointed out. "And since all of us are magical here, and we're not in muggle London anymore, can you just drop it?"

She sighed, but obeyed his wish. We spent a few moments in tense silence, then Harry stretched, yawning. "If the two of you want to spend this time arguing, go ahead," he told us. "I'm going to do something."

I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" I asked curiously.

He shrugged. "I don't know. _Something_ besides sitting here and arguing."

"We weren't arguing, we were having a philosophical disagreement," I objected.

He raised his eyebrows scornfully. "You were arguing," he said firmly. "Don't even try to deny that."

I sighed dramatically. "It is my fate to be forever misunderstood," I lamented theatrically.

"It is," he agreed, straight-faced. "So you can be misunderstood without me. I'm off to do something productive." He vanished out of the kitchen, leaving Granger and myself quite alone in the room.

She looked at me in something bordering on exasperation. "There isn't really any point in continuing," she observed. "You're far too pig-headed to understand my meaning."

I spluttered at the unfairness of the comment. "_I'm_ pig-headed?" I demanded. "Well excuse me for being right."

"See what I mean?" she demanded. "You're all the same, you purebloods. Even the ones who say they're not are really snobs."

"I object very much to being placed in the same category with Weasley, no matter what the context," I said forcefully.

"Who said anything about Ron?" she asked.

"Granger, you don't _know_ any other purebloods well enough to be making a comparison," I reminded her.

"True," she admitted. "It's true, though."

I grimaced and stood up to leave. "I refuse to be associated in any way, shape, or form with Weasley."

"So you're running away?" she asked.

"I'm walking out in protest," I corrected haughtily. "It is quite different."

"If you say so," she muttered cynically as I swept arrogantly out of the room. I ignored her comment and went to collect the second of the three volumes she'd given me. They were quite good, once you got past the author's tendency to go a bit overboard with the descriptions.


	14. 5: realization 5

_Author's note: look, the last section of chapter five! it's a bit longer than what we've been posting, but we figure that you won't mind too much. right? -grins- anyway, have fun with this.  
Disclaimer: i just bought a big jar of café mocha, but i don't own harry potter. -sigh-  
--kyra _

* * *

Granger had gone out to do some more shopping, leaving the house to the two of us. We played more games of model Quidditch, though I was rapidly running out of snitches, and I proved to him yet again that I was a better strategist than he was. After my players had captured the snitch three times in a row, he called it quits.

"I'd rather do this on a proper field," he announced. "There, you can catch the blasted thing yourself and not have to put up with incompetence."

I snorted. "You were directing them yourself," I pointed out. "Does that mean that you're not a good strategist?"

"I'm not," he said ardently. "It's Ron who's the brilliant strategist. You should see him play chess."

I raised a mocking eyebrow. "He's that good, is he?" I asked.

He nodded. "He is. He saved all of our lives by playing chess in our first year."

"Do tell," I said, rather cynically.

"He did!" he protested.

"How?" I demanded. Harry hesitated for a moment, then slowly, with increasing speed as the tale wore on, divulged the secrets of his adventures in our first year. When he'd finished, I was silent for a long moment. Finally, I said, "So _that's_ what the troll was doing in the school! I always wondered just how it managed to get into the dungeons. Professor Snape has just about every ward possible on them."

He shrugged. "Maybe, but Quirrel, or rather, Voldemort, managed to break them."

"He did," I agreed. "So you were already fighting him when you were only a first year. That'll disrupt all the stories about first years being good for nothing but wiping upper classmen's boots on."

He winced. "First years are good for much more than that," he told me. "Or had your forgotten that Ginny held Voldemort off for almost an entire year when _she_ was a first year?"

It was my turn to wince. I remembered that very well, and I also remembered just how she'd gotten the diary in the first place. From the slight strain that was creeping into Harry's eyes, he did too.

"Most first years aren't good for much, though," I said, mostly as an attempt to lift the tension than because I actually believed it.

"That's not true!" he protested. "They know lots, and some of them arrive with prior knowledge."

"But none of them would last a chance in the real world," I pointed out.

"That's why they're still at school," he told me. "So that they can learn how to survive."

I shrugged. "It would be nice if they were a bit taller," I said.

He grimaced. "There, I agree with you. I swear, they get shorter every year!"

I nodded. "That is quite true. I am absolutely certain that I was not that short when I was eleven."

"You weren't," he told me. "I looked."

He had? What did he mean by _that_? Was it possible…? No. No, it wasn't possible at all. He'd just been making idle conversation. My emotions had no business getting excited, none at all.

I was saved from a potentially embarrassing situation by a commotion in the front hallway. We both heard the door swing open at the same moment, followed by the sound of uneven steps. Harry winced and stood. "I'll go," he said.

"I'll go with you," I said instantly. What with my emotions being in the state they were, I wasn't about to let him go off alone.

"I'm not sure that that's such a good idea," he said, a little uncertainly.

"Don't even try," I threatened. "I'm going, and that's final. Hurry up!"

He made his was reluctantly to the door of the living room, with me at his heels. We passed through the kitchen and into the main hallway. Suddenly, Harry stopped dead. I almost ran into him, and only my own shock stopped me. The man standing in the doorway was easily recognizable. I'd spent an entire year in his company, after all. Alastor Moody. The notorious auror, who had been responsible for half of the prisoners in Azkaban, possibly including my own mother. I wondered what the hell he was doing here. Harry obviously hadn't been expecting either, but he stepped forward anyway once he'd mastered his shock. Moody glanced at him, then searched the rest of the hall out of habit. His magical eye stopped dead when he caught sight of me. He snarled, and stepped forwards far more swiftly than I would ever have thought possible. He dragged me out of the shadows like a child, and glared at Harry.

"What is _he_ doing here?" he snarled.

To his credit, Harry didn't back up. He wouldn't meet either of Moody's eyes, though, and his voice shook slightly when he answered. "I invited him."

"You _what_?" Moody roared. Harry did take a step back then.

"I invited him," he repeated.

Moody drew his wand and pointed it directly at me. "You are an idiot, Potter," he said. "You've compromised our security, and there's no other option than to kill this piece of filth."

I gasped, and squirmed as hard as I could, trying to escape Moody's grasp. I knew without a doubt that he would kill me, and I was terrified of the prospect.

Harry appeared to be no less afraid, but he stood his ground bravely. "He's safe, Moody," he said. "Dumbledore agreed to my inviting him here!"

"Dumbledore's all very well," Moody growled, not moving his wand from my temple. "But he trusts far too many people and sometimes, he needs to be brought back to the real world. You, Malfoy!" His attention turned abruptly to me. "Imperio!"

I felt myself descending into a calm, slightly fuzzy place. There was nothing that I couldn't do, but there was no point in doing them. An extreme lethargy seemed to engulf me, and I wondered idly why I was even standing here.

A calm, comforting voice entered my brain. "Forget where you are." I blinked. Did I need to forget? I'd never known in the first place, had I? The voice returned. "Turn around and leave this house. Go to a river and jump in. Drown yourself, and make sure that the body is not found." I moved towards the door, and started to open it. Suddenly, another voice cut across my consciousness. It was sharp and frightened, and I wanted it to go away. I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away. I wished it would stop. I had orders, after all. The voice was interfering with my ability to carry out my orders, and I didn't like it. Someone took my hand and pulled it away from the door handle. I fought blindly, struggling to get back to the door, to leave the house and jump into the river like I'd been told.

The voice came back, and this time it was shouting at me, yelling a name that I vaguely thought that I should recognize. Was it mine? It might have been, I supposed. I wanted to get to the door, wanted to carry out my orders, but the hands weren't letting me. They were holding me, forcing me to stay still. The comforting voice came back, drowning out the sharp one. "Fight him. Fight him, but don't kill him. Go to the river. Jump in, and make sure no one finds the body."

I pulled out my wand and pointed it at the hands. I uttered a spell, and the sharp voice screamed, but the hands didn't let go. The comforting voice and the sharp voice were shouting at each other, and I was confused. Why wasn't I doing what I was told? Didn't I want to do what I was told? Of course I did! But then, why wasn't I doing it? The hands were still holding me, but they were weakening. So why was I still here? My mind couldn't focus, but I thought that it might be something about the boy belonging to the hands. Who was he? Another name floated through the hazy layers of my consciousness, and I grasped it. Harry. Yes, the boy belonging to the hands was Harry. Harry was important. I didn't want to hurt Harry. I _had_ hurt Harry. I'd put a spell on him, and it had made him scream. The thought made me feel deeply ashamed. Why had I done that? I'd been told to, that was right. But why did I do what I was told? I'd never done what I was told!

I blinked, and struggled to come back to the real world. I'd been cursed, I thought blurrily. I'd been cursed, and that was why I'd hurt Harry. An intense feeling of self-loathing filled me. Oddly enough, that helped me emerge entirely from the Imperius Curse. The emotion burned away the residue of the curse, and the core that was _me_ remerged. I turned to Moody. He was still arguing with Harry, and I closed my eyes, focusing on what they were saying.

"You can't kill him!"

"You can't stop me, Potter. Obviously he's put some kind of spell on you. Who knows, maybe you're Imperiused as well. I can't take any chances."

"I'm not under the Imperius Curse, Moody."

"I don't know that, do I?"

Harry sighed. "I learned how to throw off the Imperius when I was fourteen. Crouch taught me."

Moody's face transformed painfully into an awful scowl. "You could just be telling me that," he reminded Harry. "I have no way of knowing."

"You'll just have to trust me, won't you?"

"I don't trust anyone, Potter. That's why I'm still alive."

Harry groaned, and looked away. I knew that he was losing the argument, and I wanted to do something to help him. I was still struggling not to fall back into the calm fuzzy place, though, and I thought that he would rather I fight the curse than help him. Moody had turned his attention back to me, and it took all of my strength not to resubmit to the urge to obey the comforting voice. I missed what Harry and Moody were saying, but all of a sudden, the curse lifted completely. I blinked, wondering if I'd managed to throw it off completely. But no, Moody had turned all of his attention to Harry. I could tell that there was some kind of confrontation of wills going on, but I didn't know who was winning. The two of them were staring at each other, and I fancied that I could feel the tension cracking between them. Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped, and an icy chill seemed to be coming from Harry. Moody stared.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he demanded, and I thought that he sounded like he was trying not to be scared.

"Turn around and leave my house," Harry said in the coldest voice I have ever heard. He advanced, and Moody took a step back. "Leave, and do not come back. If you set foot here again while we are still here, I will curse you harder than anyone you have ever faced. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Snap out of it, Potter," Moody growled, but his hand was on the doorknob. "You'll hurt someone."

"The only person I will hurt, Moody, is you. Get out!"

Moody pulled the door shut behind him with a loud crack, and I could hear his uneven footsteps as he limped down the stairs and out of the gate. The warmth returned to the room, and Harry slumped. I caught him before he could fall, and struggled to stand. He was heavier than he looked, and I knew that I would never get him up to his room on my own. I wished that Granger were here, but knew better than to expect her back before nightfall. I knew Granger and libraries, after all. With a sigh, I yelled, "Kreacher!"

There was a loud crack, and the filthy House-Elf appeared in front of me. He looked at Harry with undisguised glee. "Is the blood-traitor dead?" he asked in excitement. "Kreacher is so happy!"

"Shut up," I snapped. "He isn't dead." Kreacher's face dropped miserably. "Help me get him up to his room," I ordered. "And don't hurt him."

Kreacher grabbed Harry's ankles and together, we maneuvered his unresponsive body up the stairs and into the Gryffindor room. Kreacher sniffed in disapproval when he entered the room, but my threatening look kept him quiet. We arranged Harry on the bed, and I dismissed him sharply. He disappeared back to wherever he keeps himself, and I sat down next to Harry.

"What on Earth did you do?" I asked him quietly. He didn't answer, but he stirred slightly and I reached over and smoothed the black hair out of his eyes. He sighed softly, and relaxed very slightly. I sat there for a long time, wondering just what had happened back in the entrance hallway.

* * *

When Hermione returned to the house, she found Harry deeply asleep in his room, and Malfoy curled up in the library. She wondered what exactly had happened while she was out. She sent the groceries flying to their proper places in the kitchen, then went to the library herself. Malfoy didn't look up when she entered, but she knew that he'd registered her presence. After a long moment, he said, "Is he still asleep?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. She reached over and pulled a book off the shelf at random. She examined the book jacket, shrugged, and opened it. The two of them read in silence for a while, the he spoke again.

"Do you know if anger can be tangible?"

She looked at him in surprise, but she was already processing his question. "Let me think… Yes! Some really powerful wizards can create anger so strong that it's tangible. Why do you ask?"

He didn't answer her, only turned back to his book. She sighed in irritation, but didn't press him. If he was going to talk, then he would, and it wouldn't do any good to make him mad. She buried herself in an explanation of the history of the Salem Witch Trials, and almost missed his words. She carefully didn't look up from her book, but listened intently. When he'd finished, she sighed. "I don't know," she said. "I've heard of things like that, like I said, but they've always been really powerful wizards."

"Harry's very powerful, Granger," he reminded her, a little sharply.

She nodded. "True," she agreed. "But he's not at the same level as, say, Dumbledore."

"He could be," Malfoy said. "He's got the raw talent, and his wand's designed for someone with enormous power."

"How do you know?"

"Did he tell you about our first detention?"

"Of course." She carefully refrained from mentioning her reaction.

"When I put the power back in his wand, I felt its capacity. His wand can hold way more power than either of ours, believe me. He had the potential of being as powerful as Dumbledore."

Hermione didn't know what to think. She'd known, of course, that Harry was powerful. It was obvious that he was gifted and talented, and she knew that he had far more raw power than she did. But, as powerful as _Dumbledore_? She'd never thought about it like that! And then another thought hit her. Parvati was right. Malfoy _was_ in love with Harry. She hadn't been sure, but now, watching his face when he thought she wasn't looking, she could see just how scared and lonely Malfoy really was. She'd seen that look on her Mother's face sometimes, and she recognized it perfectly.

"He'll be fine," she told Malfoy quietly, looking up from her book.

Malfoy looked at her sharply. "Of course he will," he agreed, but she thought that he sounded a little unsure.

"You can admit it, you know," she said, wondering if she was about to die. "I already know."

He started, and stared hard at her. "What do you already know?"

"About you and Harry."

The blood drained out of his usually pale face. He set his book down and glared at her. "Who have you told?"

Hermione sniffed. "Who do you think I am? I haven't told anyone!"

Malfoy looked hard at her, then leaned back. "No," he said, almost to himself. "No, you haven't. Well, Granger you won't, or I'll tell the world about you and Professor Snape."

Hermione felt the blood drain out of her own face. "Me and Professor Snape?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's obvious, Granger. You glow when he talks to you."

A small, dense ball of despair began to form in her belly. He could blackmail her now, and there was nothing she could do about. He seemed to know what she was thinking, because a small smile appeared on his lips. "Relax, Granger. I won't tell anyone if you keep your own mouth closed."

She nodded slowly. "I won't tell," she promised. Honesty made her add, "But I'm not the only one who's guessed."

He frowned. "Parvati Patil," she said, in response to his unasked question. "She's the one who told me. I didn't believe her at first."

"But you do now." It wasn't a question.

"It's rather obvious, Malfoy."

He sighed. "We appear to have come to an impasse," he observed.

She shrugged. "Unless you say anything about Snape, I swear I won't say anything about you and Harry."

He considered for a moment, then nodded. Both of them returned to their books, and a comfortable silence fell over the library of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Granger had gone off to visit some relative or other, and Harry and I were left totally alone for the first time in a while. The encounter with Moody had strained the atmosphere between us, and I hoped that time alone together would help to relax it once again. Of course, I was scared out of my wits that nothing would happen and that he would go on ignoring me, but I repressed that emotion. It would be fine, I told myself. Everything would be completely and utterly fine. I'm afraid that I wasn't very convincing.

At first, it seemed as though we would spend the afternoon in silence once again. He was avoiding me, and I had no wish to appear desperate for contact, though I was, so we spent a good part of the first hour in different rooms. I was wondering whether I would have the courage to go see him and ask what it was that I'd done wrong when a shadow fell across the page of the book I was reading. I looked up into his green eyes and set the volume down.

"You've decided to talk to me again?" It came out bitter, and I wished that I'd been able to moderate my tone. It was how I felt, though, and I suppose that I had to express it at long last.

His shoulders sagged. "I've come to apologize."

That surprised me. I stared at him. "What do you mean? Why do you need to apologize to me?"

"I let him curse you, didn't I?"

"There wasn't anything you could do to stop him. He's mad, Harry."

"I know. But I couldn't do anything! I just had to watch you struggle through it on your own!"

And then I understood. I realized in that instant just why it was that Harry was so afraid of Dementors, and why he clung to his pride so very tightly. He was like me. Life had dealt him rotten cards, and he'd had to fend for himself. All this came to me in a flash, and the understanding vanished just as quickly. I was left slightly uncomfortable with him looming over me, and I summoned a chair for him to sit in. He seemed to sense my discomfort, because he dropped into it reluctantly.

"It's past," I said, trying to get rid of the tension that was almost tangible in the air. "Just let it go. We all survived, didn't we?"

"Barely," he told me, completely undermining my efforts towards making it a comfortable place to be again. "For God's sake, Draco, you almost killed yourself!"

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly Harry, do you think that I'd let some old geyser get the best of me? I would have come through eventually. My instinct of self preservation is quite strong."

Harry snorted. "I know. I still remember you ditching us in the forest as first years."

"I was young and naïve and there were monsters in that forest!" I protested. "And would you have saved me?"

"Eventually," he said, though the grin accompanying his words was a little shadowed. "I'd have laughed uproariously at you first, though."

"Thanks ever so," I said dryly.

There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, "Draco?"

"Mm?"

"How did it feel?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Being cursed. What was it like?"

I struggled to remember, finding it surprisingly hard to recall the details. "There was this place in my head. It was… fuzzy." He snorted, trying to suppress laughter. I glared at him. "It _was_! It's not my fault that my own personal comforting place happens to be fuzzy! So you want to hear this or not?"

"Go on," he said, still smiling slightly.

"There was a voice. It was telling me things, and I wanted… no _had_ to obey."

"Moody," Harry said flatly.

I nodded. "Probably. And there was another voice. You, I would assume. You yelled at me, and I suppose that that helped me snap out of it."

"You cursed me," he reminded me, looking plaintively at his hands, which were still wrapped in a slight layer of gauze.

"Sorry about that," I said sincerely. "I didn't want to, and I felt bad about it right after."

He shrugged. "It wasn't your fault. What did you use, though?"

"A burning charm."

"Flitwick never taught us those."

"And with good reason. It's actually pretty dangerous. No one's allowed to learn it before they pass their NEWTs."

"And you know it how?"

I smirked. "How often do I follow the rules?"

"About as often as I do," he conceded.

"That reminds me," I said. "How do you manage not to get in trouble for all the things you do? After all, anyone else would have been expelled years ago."

He smirked back. "Favoritism," he said smugly. "It's a wonderful thing."

I growled. "That is totally and completely unfair."

"Yep. Side effect of saving the world as a part-time job."

"You want a costume?"

"I'd need a codename first."

"How about Posterboy?"

He goggled at me. "_Posterboy_?!"

I shrugged. "It's what Pansy calls you, you know."

"It's totally inaccurate," he informed me.

"Oh yeah? You don't read the Prophet, then."

"You're perfectly correct. It's a load of rubbish."

I grinned. "Yup. Rubbish about you. Listen to this." I leaned down and snagged a copy of the latest paper. I flipped to the article that I wanted and said, "You ready?"

He nodded.

"An article about celebrities. 'Latest singing sensation Gergovina Paladine is on a level of fame comparative to that enjoyed by Harry Potter.' And that's one of the minor ones."

"Are you sure that isn't an insult to Gergovina?"

I shrugged. "She's damn sexy, and her voice is decent. I doubt it."

"How would you know if she's sexy or not?" he demanded.

"You think that just because I'm drawn to boys means that I can't appreciate female beauty?"

He blinked, and I laughed. "Never mind. But you are pretty famous again."

"I still refuse to be called 'Posterboy,' though," he said decisively.

"How about the Amazing Starfish?" I suggested.

He looked at me blankly.

"If you cut off a Starfish's arm, it'll always grow back."

"No," he said definitively. "I think that I will choose my _own_ name!"

"What are your ideas?"

"Megamaid," he said instantly.

"_Excuse_ me? And you think _I'm_ bad at thinking of names?"

"Well, I just cleaned up the world, and then it gets back into jeopardy! It's not my fault!"

"I think that you need just as much help as I do."

He sighed. "Well, then we'll just have to go right to the sidekick, won't we? How about this: 'blank and his trusty sidekick the Amazing Bouncing Ferret'?"

"NO WAY!" I shouted. "I am picking my _own_ name too!"

"You want to be the starfish instead?"

"How about a piranha? Then I can bite you when you insult me."

"Fine. Megamaid and the fearless biting Piranha."

"All right. I'm not wearing fins, though."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised solemnly.

"Good."

"How do you know so much about Superheroes, anyway? Do wizards have their own superheroes?"

I shook my head. "I smuggled muggle comic books into the house. I must admit a private fondness for the Wolverine."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You and Dudley," he said. "It was the only thing they could get him to read."

I grimaced. "Thank you ever so much for insulting my taste in such a vile fashion."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"You're right."

I snagged a piece of paper and a pencil, bending over my lap in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

I grinned wickedly up at him. "Payback," I informed him. I quickly sketched the picture I had in mind, then passed it over to him.

He looked at it, then chocked. "You are an evil person," he informed me.

I grinned at him. "Yes, I know." The drawing was of him, wearing one of the comical spandex costumes that Superheroes seem to love so much. It was emblazoned with a big clunky M on the front, and there was the slightest hint of a long, flowing cape coming down behind. One hand was propped on his hip, and the other was stuck fist-up into the air. He was wearing a slightly comically stern expression, and I'd added in a speech bubble reading _Don't tell me, you've messed the world up __again__??_

"You really could go professional," he informed me. "Though if this particular drawing is ever made public, I will personally desecrate your name."

I shrugged. "Go ahead. It's not like it's that clean in the first place."

"Your _first_ name, Draco."

"I repeat, it's not all that clean at this point. Besides, I doubt my father would be too thrilled if I announced that I was going to take up a career as a starving artist."

"You wouldn't starve, I'd make sure of it."

"How generous of you."

There was a moment of silence, then he said, "You know, if anyone had told me last year that I'd be having a conversation with you about superheroes and starving artists, I would have told them that they were mental and tried to take them to see Madam Pomfrey."

I shrugged. "My my, how times change."

"Indeed."

I glanced at my watch. Over forty-five minutes had elapsed, and I wondered just how much longer we had together.

As though he'd read my mind, Harry said, "You know, Hermione won't be back for another hour at least. Do you have anything in mind as to how to wile away the time?"

"No. You?"

"Well… as we seem to have exhausted our own superheroes, and there's no way to get new ones, how about trying to get muggle movies to work in here."

I frowned. "Where exactly are you intending to set them up?"

He shrugged. "The living room, maybe. I'd need a VCR, but mostly I want a place to hook it up. You're sure there's no spell that allows electricity to work here?"

"There might be. If there is, I haven't found it yet."

"Isn't there a card catalogue of this place?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "It's not _my_ library, now is it?"

He sighed. "Can you make one?"

"Spontaneously? Certainly not."

"Then can you find the spell?"

I rolled my eyes. "How do you know that there actually _is_ a spell?"

He grinned. "Because there's a tape deck in Sirius' room."

"A what?"

"A tape deck. It plays muggle music."

"Oh. So go look through his notes. Surely it'll say how he did it."

"You look through the library."

"Fine."

He left the room, and I looked around the immense Black family library, wondering where in the _hell_ to start.

* * *

Hermione came back to a house empty of cooking and full of scraps of paper and two boys obviously planning something. She dropped Aunt Addy's presents on her bed and wandered down into the deserted kitchen, half intending to start dinner. Just as she was trying to decide what she was going to make, Harry popped his head through the door. "Hey, Hermione!"

"Mm?"

"Can you help us?"

"With what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just a project."

"What kind of project?"

"Nothing illegal," he assured her right away. He then outlined his vision of installing a VCR in the living room. "I know that it's possible," he told her, explaining about Sirius' tape deck. "But we can't find the spell he used, and he didn't write it down."

Hermione frowned. It was an interesting problem, that was for sure. "I don't know without checking," she warned him. "But I have an idea of what he might have used. Tell you what, _you_ cook dinner, and I'll have a look at Sirius' tape deck."

He nodded. "Thanks a million, Hermione!"

She left the kitchen and made her way slowly upstairs, noting as she did so that Malfoy was nowhere in sight. He must be in the library, she thought. He certainly seemed to like it almost as much as she did.

As promised, the tape deck was on the slightly cluttered desk. Hermione cast a slightly curious glance around the rest of the room, but then honed in completely on the project at hand. Catching her lip between her teeth, she pulled out her wand and began to try to analyze the layers of spells that Sirius had put on the appliance. Obviously, he'd done lots of research beforehand, and she found herself admiring the subtle complexities of the spell patterns.

Unable to discern them just by looking, she dug through the drawer until she found a blank piece of paper that seemed to suit her purpose. With a quick flip of her wand, she transferred the patterns that she was seeing onto the paper. Another motion made them three dimensional, and she dropped into a chair, losing herself in the beauties of the patterns.

Harry found her fifteen minutes later, still entranced by what Sirius had managed to achieve.

"What in the name of God are you doing?" he asked, startling her. As she lost concentration, the spells broke and the entire construction vanished. She turned to glare at him, suddenly aware of the fierce headache that was pounding at her temples.

"I was examining the spells, like you told me to," she shot back. "I was almost done, too."

"Sorry. So what did you find out?"

She rubbed a hand over her forehead, pressing down in an attempt to dull the pain that was piercing through to her brain. "It's a quite complex set of spells that, once cast, never really wear out. You can reinforce them, but you don't need to."

"Can you do it?"

"With a bit of time and preparation, yes. Help would be nice, though."

"What can I do?"

She shook her head. "Not you. Malfoy."

His eyebrows shot sky high. "You want _Draco_ to help you? Why?"

"Because he's better at this than you are," she said bluntly. "You have power, but you don't have the control needed for such a delicate operation."

He sighed. "Can I watch at least?"

She shrugged. "If you want. I doubt that it'll be very interesting."

"I'm curious. When can you do it?"

"I don't know. You'd have to buy me a VCR first, you know. And I'll have to talk with Malfoy, to see if he agrees. And food would be nice."

He grinned. "_That_, at least, I can help you with. Dinner is served."

Over dinner, Hermione outlined her plans. Thankfully, Malfoy seemed interested, and he agreed to help. Hermione was relieved. She _could_ have done it on her own, or allowed Harry to help, but this was the ideal solution.

"So basically," he said, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "you want me to cast the spell in tandem with you to relieve the magical strain."

She nodded. "That's the basic idea, yes. And it would help to have your control as well."

"You flatter me, Granger."

"No, I'm telling you the truth. If you remember, I've been your partner in class for the last month. I've had plenty of time to assess your capabilities. You have enough power to make it possible and enough control that I don't have to worry about you losing your grip on the power."

He grinned. "I'd be glad to help, especially after you asked me so nicely."

"Thanks ever so. Now, if you boys don't mind, I think I'm going to retire. I have a mother of a headache."

* * *

The next morning, they sent Harry off to buy a VCR. When he returned, he found them sitting at the kitchen table, neck deep in papers and notes. Neither one looked up as he entered the room, and he deduced from the look on Hermione's face that it might be quite a while until they were actually ready to cast the spell. With a sigh, he deposited the VCR in the living room and then dropped into a chair, wondering how long he would have to wait. Casting around for something to do, he spotted a rather ugly ornament of a swan. It was made of some sort of ceramic, and Harry wondered what on Earth it was _for_. He shrugged and pulled out his wand, thinking for a moment, and then casting a basic locomotor charm on it. It glided softly over the table and fell off the edge. Harry rescued it with a hasty, "Wingardium Leviosa," and it rose back up to the table. He continued to play with it for a long time, trying to make it come to life.

When Hermione and Draco entered the room, Harry muttered, "Finite Incantatem." The swan fell to the ground, shattering. Harry shrugged and swept the pieces up into his hand. It was ugly anyway.

Hermione glanced at him. "You can stay, but put your wand away. If this is going to work, then we need no other magical influences."

"All right." He shoved his wand back into his pocket. "Do I have to move?"

Draco shook his head. "Just keep quiet," he said. "We'll need to concentrate."

Harry relaxed in the armchair as Hermione and Draco moved to opposite sides of the VCR. As one, they raised their wands and looked at each other. Hermione gave an almost invisible nod, and both of them brought their wands up and around in a complex motion. Bolts of light shot out of the wands, hitting the VCR at exactly the same moment. Then, while Draco sustained the spell, Hermione began to move her own wand rapidly, whispering words in an arcane language that Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend. For a surreal moment, he felt himself being transported _into_ the VCR. His body changed and became flat and smooth, and his brain cells mutated into electronic pulses. He was changing, being brought forth from the dark world of electricity into the light of magic. He pulsed with the new power, and his circuits were strained to the maximum, unable to cope with such power. He was changing, allowing his power cells to fill with the strange new energy, letting go of his instinctive urge to be tethered to a plug. He didn't need such things! He was a new being, and as such, he could begin a new life. He was being reborn, and giving birth at the same time. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

Suddenly, as abruptly as it had begun, the feeling ended. Harry was himself again, staring in mute amazement as Hermione and Draco finished casting the spells. As one, they lowered their wand arms and shouted, "So mote it be!" The odd light that had filled the room while Harry was pretending to be a living VCR vanished, and Hermione slumped to the ground. Harry caught her adroitly and maneuvered her to the chair where he'd been sitting. Draco staggered, caught himself, and managed to stumble onto the couch. He collapsed into it, his face a frightening white.

"So drained," he managed. "Better soon." He fell into a dead faint, and Harry moved to cover him with the blanket that someone had conveniently left on the arm of the couch. He turned to Hermione, seeing that she too was fast asleep, and padded softly into the closet, pulling out a spare blanket from the supply there. He laid it gently over her prone form, then slipped out of the room, wondering what in the hell he was going to do until they woke up. A delightful idea occurred to him, and he grinned as he put his shoes on and left the house.

* * *

I woke feeling slightly refreshed, if not up to doing enough magic to lift a pin. A quick glance told me that Granger was still out, and I threw back the blanket and stretched, wincing at the pain the shot up through my muscles. The VCR looked none the worse for wear, and I hoped to dear God that what we'd done had worked. It would be very frustrating indeed to know that we'd expended all of our power for nothing at all. I walked up the stairs, thinking muzzily about drifting back off to sleep in the bed that I'd come to call my own. Harry's door was open, though, and he was sitting at the desk, fiddling with the thing he called a tape deck. At my weary knock, he glanced up. His face brightened with a delighted grin.

"Draco! You finally woke up!"

"I'm not ready to be awake yet," I said, stifling a yawn with my hand. "I could sleep for another day, at least."

Harry grimaced. "You've _been_ asleep almost all day," he informed me. "Do you have any idea how bored I've been?"

"Can't you entertain yourself?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not really. I like having other people around. How's Hermione?"

I blinked at the change of subject, too addled to make the connection. "Still asleep. She did the hard part: I just supplied the raw power."

"It was a very weird experience," he informed me. I raised an eyebrow, and he tried to describe to me his journey into the heart of the VCR.

When he was finished, I was silent for a long moment. Finally, I said, "Since I've never done this before, I don't know if it's normal or not. I suppose it must have been a side effect of the powerful nature of the spell."

He shrugged. "Why ever it was, it was very disconcerting. You don't expect to be changed into a piece of technology, even at Hogwarts. I wonder if Flitwick would know if it's supposed to happen."

"I have no idea," I said truthfully. "I didn't even know that it was possible until yesterday."

"If it's never happened before, maybe we can think of a way for me _not_ to be in the history books again," he suggested.

I managed a grin. "Not likely," I said. "You'll be the 'Boy-who-lived-and-changed-into-a-piece-of-muggle-technology-for-five-seconds.' More famous that Celestina Warbeck herself."

"Thanks ever so," he said dryly, turning back to the tape deck. "Sit down. You look about to fall over."

I started to protest, but realized that he was right and wove a bit drunkenly over to the bed. I dropped onto it, and leaned against the wall to brace myself upright. "Is there any good music there?" I asked, nodding towards the tape deck.

Harry shrugged. "What do you classify as 'good'?"

"Something with words and a bearable tune," I answered.

He sorted through a pile of plastic things, and came up with one. "Beatles, Abby Road," he read. "Ever heard of them?"

I shook my head. "No. Are they good?"

"They were wildly popular in the 60s," he told me.

"That does not make them good," I pointed out.

"True," he agreed. He popped the plastic thing into the tape deck and pressed a button down. There was a long moment, then music began to come from the tape deck. I closed my eyes, listening to the music. They were decent, and I thought that I could detect subtleties beyond what could normally be achieved by pure muggle instruments. Was one of them a wizard? I was beginning to realize just how many wizards left the community and slipped back into mainstream muggle society.

The music played for a long time, and I felt myself drift into a semi-wakeful state. When the sounds finally wound to a stop, I blinked blearily.

Harry was watching me, and he raised his eyebrows as I looked up at him. "Better?"

I shrugged. "I'll live. I might even be able to get back up again."

"Need help?"

"Probably." He stuck his hand out, and I grasped it firmly, using it to heave myself back into a sitting position. The contact felt warm on my skin, and I had to physically force myself to stop from leaning into it. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about such things, I told myself firmly. We'd just gotten comfortable around each other again, and I vowed not to do anything to jeopardize that comfort. With a slight groan, I pulled myself to my feet, wincing at the pain of the blood surging back into my legs. Harry caught me as I staggered, and supported me as I concentrated on breathing and making myself take that first step. It was a lot harder than just making my legs move.

Finally, though, I had to move on my own. I walked almost smoothly to the door and he followed me, closing the door behind him. We made our way slowly down the stairs and into the living room, finding that Granger had woken up and was examining our work with considerable interest. I admired her determination: even after the second impromptu nap, the last thing I wanted to do was look at a magical working.

She seemed to read my mind, because she commented, "You supplied the pure power of the operation, Malfoy. You're actually a lot more drained than I am."

"Thanks ever so," I said dryly, moving over to sit across from her. Harry took his place on the couch where I'd conked out, and looked at the VCR with interest.

"And it'll play movies now?"

Granger nodded. "There's no reason why it shouldn't. Though, upon reflection, Sirius must have had help. It's not possible to supply the power _and_ the subtleties on your own. Your dad must've been the anchor."

Harry nodded. "And Lupin observed? I wonder if he thought he was transforming into a tape deck." Granger looked at him questioningly, and Harry explained about his shift in perception. She, typically, looked utterly fascinated, and I could just tell that she was going to be doing major research on the subject as soon as possible.

Partly in order to stop her from going off on an intellectual tangent, I asked, "So are there any decent movies to watch?"

Harry grinned. "While the two of you were dead to the world, I popped out and got us something to enjoy. You ever seen this one, Hermione?" He produced a cardboard case and tossed it to Granger. She caught it clumsily and read the title quickly. She shook her head.

"What is it?" I queried, when explanations didn't appear to be forthcoming.

"Superman," Harry told me, still looking at Granger.

"I've heard of it, of course, but I've never actually seen it," she said in answer to his earlier question. "Have you?"

He shrugged. "Bits of it. Dudley rented it one time, and I snuck in a few times when it seemed interesting."

"And was it?" I put in.

"Interesting? Moderately. A bit less mindless than Star Wars, I think."

"A bit hard to get _more_ mindless than Star Wars," I said dryly.

Harry and Granger exchanged glances. "Believe me," Harry said, grimacing. "There's a _lot_ worse than Star Wars floating out there."

* * *

To Hermione's astonishment, the movie wasn't all that bad. It was, as Harry had promised, less mindless that Star Wars, and she found herself actually connecting very slightly with some of the characters. The story was fairly straight forwards, with the only real twist the fact that Superman didn't reveal himself to Lois and she didn't seem to guess. What should have happened, in a traditional type film, was that he would tell her, she would accuse him of lying, and turn away. He would be heartbroken, and then he'd be forced to save her as Clark Kent and she would fall into his arms, thinking him Superman. When she realized who he was, there would be a moment of revelation and she'd decide that she loved Clark for himself and not for Superman. Then they'd get married and live happily ever after. Of course, if they'd done it that way, there wouldn't have been any sequels.

Malfoy seemed to enjoy it as well. He made snide comments about the characters and the effects, and sneered at the romance. Hermione deduced that he would do his best to replicate their charm at his own house.

When the movie was over, Harry stretched. "That was nice," he said to no one in particular. "Though I can't see why Dudley was so obsessed with it."

Hermione snorted, remembering Harry's cousin. "Are you kidding?" she asked. "Ordinary guy goes off and beats people up without getting into trouble for it. Why do you think he liked it?"

Harry grimaced. "True," he agreed. "That would be why I wasn't allowed to see it, I imagine."

Hermione nodded. "Probably."

"And now what do we do?" Malfoy asked. "It's only ten thirty, and the movie appears to have finished. Any other brilliant plans for how to pass the time?"

"We could finish the puzzle," Harry suggested.

"What puzzle?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, that's right. You weren't home for that. We went to the British Museum and bought a puzzle of the Rosetta Stone," Harry explained. "We tried it, but it's fiendishly difficult. You feel like helping us?"

She shrugged. "I'll take a look. I'm not too good at puzzles, though. If you want someone who's good, you should ask my sister."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Belle's good at puzzles?" he asked.

She nodded. "She's always been good. I don't know where she gets it, but she was better than I was when she was five."

"I imagine that that wasn't too difficult," Malfoy said dryly. Harry glared at him. He shrugged.

More in order to forestall an argument than anything else, Hermione said, "I'll try. Where is it?"

Harry led her into one of the rooms that they didn't use, lighting the lamps with a flick of his wand. A table was set up in the middle, containing a large number of puzzle pieces, all exactly the same color. Hermione winced. "You _definitely_ want my sister for this."

"Belle's not here," Harry reminded her.

"I know that," Hermione assured him. She bent over the puzzle, but couldn't make heads or tails out of it. "Sorry," she said. "I don't think I'll be any help here."

Harry shrugged. "No one'll touch it if we leave it here until next time we come back, I suppose."

Malfoy grimaced. "You're going to leave it unfinished?" he demanded. "Isn't there a rule against that, or something?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't know. I've never read that Puzzle-maker's bible."

"I have," Draco assured him. "It's rule number N45, right before the one that proclaims that it's cheating to do the edge first and right after the one instructing you not to separate by color."

"Since when are you an expert on puzzles?" Hermione asked, a little sarcastically. She wasn't usually a sarcastic person, but three weeks with Malfoy were starting to rub off.

"What else do you think there is to do at my house?" Malfoy demanded. "My ancestors decided to build the Manor out in the middle of basically nowhere, and there isn't even a proper village next to it. I get to be cut off from the world for two months a year."

"Join the club," Harry muttered. Malfoy grinned.

"I wouldn't have thought you had the patience to do puzzles," Hermione said frankly.

Malfoy shrugged. "Depends on the day," he admitted. "There were times when I desperately wanted to kill something. Puzzles weren't the best thing to do during those days."

Harry looked at him in askance, but he didn't volunteer any more information. Finally, Harry shrugged. "Well, if we're going to meet the standards set in rule N45, we'd better get started, hadn't we?" Malfoy nodded, and the two of them bent over the table. Hermione left them to it.

She suddenly had an unignorable urge to go out. Shouting this to Harry and Malfoy, she passed through the front door and out of the wards on the house. She reached into her pocket and switched on her cell phone, checking it for messages. She noted that she had one from Aunt Addy and turned the sound up to hear what her aunt had to say.

_Hey darling, it's me, Addy. Listen, I was thinking. Since they're making you do the cooking anyway, why don't you ditch the duty and invite them to my place. I'd like to meet them, after all. And yes, I am acting on behalf of your mother. Don't worry, I haven't told her that you're staying with _two_ boys. She just told me to keep an eye on you. Give me a ring when you get this, and we'll talk more, all right? Love you, Addy._

Hermione switched the phone out of voice mail and dialed her aunt's number. Aunt Addy picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hey Aunt Addy, it's Hermione."

"Darling! I was just about to call you again!"

"Sorry. The phone doesn't work inside the house. Magic and technology don't work together."

"Oh well. At least you've called now. So, how are things?"

Hermione shrugged. "The boys are working on a zillion piece puzzle of the Rosetta stone."

"Oh dear."

"Exactly."

"So you bailed and left them to it, I take it."

"Yup. You mentioned something in your message about eating dinner?"

"So I did. When do you think would be convenient for you?"

Hermione considered. "I don't think we've got anything _too_ urgent left to do. We go back on Sunday, you know."

"So you could come any time?"

"I think so."

"Wonderful! Why don't we do it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's a bit sudden, don't you think?"

"Of course not! Honestly, darling, you're acting like your mother!"

Hermione laughed. "Sorry about that," she said. "I'll talk to the boys and find out if they agree."

"Deal. But remember to call me back, all right? Any preferences on the menu?"

"Chinese?" Hermione said hopefully. "They don't serve it at school, and I haven't had any in _ages_!"

Aunt Addy laughed. "I see you're making it easy on me," she observed. "Chinese it is. There's a nice little place a few blocks away that does affordably delicious take-out."

"Wonderful," Hermione said sincerely. "So then, I'll see you tomorrow, shall I?"

"Aren't you going to talk to me at _all_?" Aunt Addy demanded. "I haven't heard from you in _days_!"

Hermione grinned. "Well, I've been busy. They gave me big books for Christmas, and I'm almost done with the last one."

"I see," Aunt Addy said knowingly. "Which books are they?"

"Outlander, by Diana Gabbaldon."

"I've heard of those, I think. All about a woman in post-war Britain who travels 200 years back in time and meets and marries a dashing young Scotsman?"

"Exactly."

"What was his name again?" Aunt Addy asked. "The Scotsman, that is. Not her first husband."

"James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser," Hermione said formally. "Better known as Jamie."

"Jamie, that's right. I remember, I had such a crush on him as a girl." Hermione could hear the grin in her voice. "Later I realized that it was my destiny only to fall in love with characters who don't exist."

Hermione laughed. "And what about Robert?" she demanded, naming the man that her aunt had been seeing a couple years ago.

"A passing fancy," Aunt Addy said breezily. "My true loves shall always be Numair Salmalin."

Hermione chocked. "You're right," she said when she could speak again. "It is your destiny."

"Don't mock Numair, wench," Aunt Addy said. "He's better than that!"

"He's also taken," Hermione reminded her. "By a girl about twenty years younger than he is."

"And? Jamie's taken too, in case you'd forgotten. That doesn't mean that I can't dream."

Hermione shook her head. "I'll see you tomorrow evening," she said.

"Wretch," Aunt Addy told her amiably. "Very well. I'll pop over to the Chinese place and see what they have. You still like the shrimp?"

"I do" Hermione assured her. "Give me shrimp and I promise never to insult Numair again."

"For that, I'll buy you all the shrimp you can eat," Aunt Addy vowed. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," Hermione answered. She flipped the phone closed and tucked it back into her pocket.

* * *

They arrived at Hermione's aunt's house at five o'clock. She pulled open the door at the first knock, obviously expecting them. She grinned merrily, and ushered them into her flat. Harry couldn't help goggling at her as he followed her into the sitting room. She was shorter than his own 5 foot 7 by several inches, but she held herself like someone much taller. She bubbled with energy, and he wouldn't have been surprised at all to learn that she was a witch. She wasn't, though, and according to Hermione, she was older than she looked.

"I heard that!" she shouted from ahead of them.

Hermione grinned. "You're the older sister, remember?"

"Only genetically," she shouted back. "Mentally and physically, your mother is _way_ older than I am!"

Hermione didn't object to that, and her aunt tossed back another mock insult. Laughing, Hermione answered, and they continued to banter without saying anything important until everyone was arranged satisfactorily in the sitting room. Hermione's aunt perched on the arm of her sofa, and Harry couldn't help wondering just what Aunt Petunia would think if he did that. She wouldn't care if Dudley did. Though, of course, if Dudley tried to sit on the arm of the sofa, he would break it. Harry snorted at the thought.

Hermione looked questioningly at him. "Sorry," he said. "I was just imagining my cousin Dudley sitting like that." He nodded towards her aunt.

Hermione laughed. "I can imagine," she agreed.

Her aunt looked from one to the other. Her bright brown gaze settled on Hermione. "Are you intending to introduce me to your friends?" she asked finally.

Hermione blushed. "Right. Aunt Addy, this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Harry, Malfoy, this is, obviously, my aunt."

Her aunt nodded to them. "Call me Addy," she said.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Addy," Harry said formally.

Addy rolled her eyes. "_Please_! You make me feel _old_! Just Addy is fine. Pleased to meet you too, by the way."

Harry smiled. "If you insist."

"I do," she said firmly. There was a moment of silence, then she said, "I understand that you both go to school with Hermione."

Draco shot a glare in Hermione's direction. Hermione shrugged. "Open secret," she said. "Hard not for it to be. I had a habit of lifting things and throwing them around without using my hands. An explanation was much appreciated."

"Yes," Harry said, in answer to Addy's question. "We're all at the same school. Draco isn't in our House, though."

Draco grimaced. "Good thing, too," he muttered.

Addy laughed. "Hard to handle, are they?" she asked sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Draco agreed.

"Oh, I think I do. When Hermione's mother got taller than me, she was impossible to scare anymore."

"No, that was when she got stronger than you," Hermione contradicted. "That happened later."

Addy rolled her eyes. "Must you get technical?" she complained. "It amounts to the same thing." She turned to Harry and Draco. "Are both of you only children?"

Both nodded. She grimaced. "I don't know whether to be envious or pitying. There's times when it would be the best thing in the world to be an only child, and times when I wouldn't give my sister up for the world."

Hermione snorted. Her aunt ignored her.

Harry shrugged. "I live with my cousin, but he and I… well, we have nothing whatsoever in common."

Addy nodded knowingly. "I see," she said. "That's worse than being an only child."

"Do you intend to feed us?" Hermione interrupted. "Or will we just have to sit here all night?"

Addy grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'd just intended to sit here. Why, did you come for dinner?"

"We did, actually," Hermione said.

"Well, you appear to be in luck. I just so happen to have far more Chinese than I can handle on my own."

Hermione grinned. "I don't think that will be a problem."

"Weasley's not here, after all," Draco muttered. "There might even be some left for us."

They followed Addy into the tiny kitchen. Hermione started to set the table, but her aunt batted her away. "Sit," she ordered. "I'll do the work. Since I'm going to feed you, I may as well be a proper hostess all the way." She bustled around the kitchen, making utensils and plates appear seemingly out of nowhere and sending them flying with perfect precision onto the table.

"You're _sure_ she isn't a witch?" Harry muttered, watching her.

Hermione shook her head. "Just extraordinarily coordinated," she answered.

Addy swept over to the table and adroitly slid a tray of mini pastry-like things onto a trivet. She darted back to the oven and came back with two dishes containing meat and noodles. She closed the oven, switched it off, and took her place at the head of the table. She helped herself to several of the pastries, as well as generous servings of meat and noodles. She passed the dishes to Hermione, who also had no trouble picking, and then they went on to Harry. He looked at the pastries stupidly, wondering if it would be rude to ask what in the hell these were.

Thankfully, Hermione noticed his discomfort and said, "These are crab cakes. Those are egg rolls, and these over here are little cheese-filled things that I don't know the name of. Shrimp live on this end, and the middle is taken up with little things called, for some unknown reason, raviolis. The meat is sesame chicken on this side and sweet and sour pork on the other, and the noodles are your basic noodles with vegetables."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He eyed the tray with suspicion. Finally, he carefully selected one of the cheese-filled things, a ravioli, and an egg roll. He shuddered at the very thought of crab cakes, and the tails sticking out of the shrimp made him very slightly queasy. A small helping of sesame chicken and an equally small portion of noodles completed his selection, and he passed the food gratefully to Draco. To Harry's irritation, Draco seemed to have no problems choosing, and he even seemed quite fond of the shrimp. Harry shuddered and looked away.

The food was surprisingly good. Harry had never had any kind of Chinese before, as Uncle Vernon couldn't tolerate foreign foods, and the House Elves at Hogwarts only cooked British food. He wondered if that was all they knew how to make, or if someone had ordered them not to serve anything foreign. Maybe he could convince them to branch out a bit.

They restricted the dinner-table conversation strictly to idle banter, most of it between Hermione and her aunt. Apparently any cross-examination that was going to happen would be afterwards. Sure enough, once she'd cleared the plates and served herself and Draco tiny cups of Chinese coffee, Addy leaned forward in her chair and eyed Harry almost predatorily.

"Right," she declared. "You know the real reason you're over here, right? Just a hint, it's _not_ so that you can eat my food."

Harry groaned. Apparently that constituted an answer, because she nodded. "That's right. I'm going to have to perform a background check on you to make sure you're a suitable companion for my niece."

"A bit late now, isn't it?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "The holiday's almost over, after all."

"Better late than never," Addy answered briskly. "So, first question. Why are you friends with Hermione?"

Harry blinked. "What?" he demanded.

"You heard me," she said. "Why are you her friend?"

"Because I like her," Harry answered, a little defensively. "Why else?"

"You don't like her because she does your homework for you?"

"No!"

"But she does, doesn't she?"

"Well… sometimes," he admitted. "But she makes me do it on my own most of the time."

"Next question," Addy said, not responding to his comment. "Are you involved romantically with anyone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Why does this matter?"

"Just answer."

He sighed. "My other best friend Ron's little sister."

Addy frowned at him. "And how old is she?"

"A year younger than we are."

"Is she still a virgin?"

Harry chocked. "Of course she is!" he spluttered. "Are you suggesting that Ginny and I have been having sex?"

"Just checking," Addy said breezily. "I want only the best for Hermione, you understand. Do the young lady's parents know of the liaison?"

"Of course they do! What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"That is precisely what I'm trying to find out."

Harry grumbled under his breath, causing Draco, who could obviously hear him, to raise an impressed eyebrow. "I didn't think you knew all those words, Potter," he observed lazily.

"You'd be surprised," Harry muttered back. His earlier affection for Hermione's aunt was dimming rapidly, as were his views about Hermione's taste. The broad grin on her face belayed her amusement at the scene and Harry's stuttering state. He resolved to find something nasty to slip into her dinner very soon. Maybe Fred and George had something that would work.

"That's another thing," Addy said, looking from him to Draco. "Just what is your relationship with Draco?"

"We're friends," Harry told her instantly. "Best friends."

"You can only have one best friend," Addy pointed out.

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "I have three," he informed her. "And I'm not going to choose between them, so don't even go there."

She nodded approvingly. "You've got guts. You'll do. Next!"

"Thanks a lot," Harry muttered. He gratefully surrendered his place to Draco, who underwent a similar examination. Finally, apparently satisfied, she leaned back again, toying with her empty coffee cup.

"You picked good ones," she told Hermione. "They won't try anything."

"I think I realized that, thanks," Hermione said dryly. She glanced at her watch. "We should probably start getting ready to go. All of us have rather too much packing to do if we're going to be anywhere close to ready on Saturday evening."

Addy stood. "Well then, get going," she said. "I've accomplished my mission, after all. I can write and tell your mother that you're in good company."

"Mum already knows Harry," Hermione pointed out. "We spent the summer with him."

"But does she _know_ him?" Addy pressed.

Hermione shrugged. "Depends on what you think," she said. "She certainly didn't interview him nearly as closely as you did."

Addy shook her head in disapproval. "That's Ali for you: always forgetting the important parts. Well, I won't keep you from your packing. I suppose I won't hear from you until summer?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably not," she said. "I doubt that the landlord would appreciate the owls coming through the window."

"I'm sure they wouldn't," Addy agreed. She hugged Hermione, then shook hands with both Harry and Draco. "Very nice to meet you," she said.

Both Harry and Draco murmured meaningless politesses back, then gathered their coats and followed Hermione out of the building. Once outside, Harry slumped against the wall. "That was…. unexpected," he said.

"Sorry I didn't warn you," Hermione said, looking completely unapologetic. "But she'd have known."

"Just what exactly does she do for a living?" Draco demanded.

"She's a fashion consultant," Hermione said.

"A what?" Harry asked blankly.

"A fashion consultant. You know, someone who tells other people what to wear."

"Oh. People get _paid_ for that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry. People get paid for that."

"Amazing," he said sincerely. "There's a whole group of people out there that I didn't even know existed."

"Are we going to stand here all night?" Draco demanded. "It's getting cold."

They started off down the street, still talking. Harry was still amazed that he'd never heard of fashion consultants, and he drilled Hermione relentlessly as to the specifics of her aunt's chosen career. He was so preoccupied with the details of the job that he didn't notice the men eyeing their little group greedily.

Draco, not busy wrapping his mind around alien concepts, did see them. "Trouble," he hissed as they emerged onto a dimly lit street corner. Harry looked up instantly, his hand flying to the pocket that contained his wand.

"Street trash," Hermione muttered. "Probably desperate types, willing to do anything to get some cash."

Draco grinned wolfishly. "They won't find us such easy pickings," he said. Harry noted with interest that his stride had gotten smoother and more balanced, almost as though he were unconsciously preparing for an upcoming fight. Harry himself felt tension built up between his shoulder blades, a sure sign that his nerves were working themselves up to premium awareness.

The men had seen them alter their stride, and this seemed to be some kind of signal. They closed in, followers materializing out of nowhere. One of them, a black man with a wicked looking knife, spoke.

"Jus' the money. We jus' wan' yo' money."

"Get lost," Draco told him flatly.

"We don't want ta have to kill ya, kid."

"Just try," Draco sneered. His hand closed around his wand. The black man advanced, and Draco drew his wand with a single fluid gesture.

The man sneered at the wand. "You think that you'll stop us with a stick?" he demanded. "Give up and we'll make it nice an' painless."

"I can't make the same promise, I'm afraid," Draco said.

Harry stepped forward as well, drawing his own wand. "You don't want to do this," he advised. "We're a bit paranoid at the moment."

"Let's jus' kill 'em," one of the others shouted. "We're waistin' our time here!"

"Shuddup!" the black man ordered. He faced Harry and Draco. "I'm curious. Jus' what d'you think you can do with those sticks?"

"This," Draco said. "Stupefy!" A bolt of red light flew out of his wand and hit the black man firmly on the chest. He topped over backwards and fell with a dull thump. There was a dead silence for a beat, then the others hurled themselves at Harry and Draco. They fought for a long moment, but there were far more men than there were wizards, and they were older and stronger. Swiftly, they closed in on the three, forming a deadly ring.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly. "Here." She dug into her pocket and passed both Harry and Draco a small round object.

Harry recognized it right away as an Apparating Apparatus. He nodded his thanks, then tapped it with his wand and shouted, "12 Grimmauld Place!" He swallowed it and felt the now familiar disintegrating feeling. He opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of the door next to Draco and Hermione.

"Thanks a million, Hermione," Harry gasped, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. "I doubt we could have gotten out of that on our own."

Draco snorted. "You couldn't have, maybe. It's a sad day when I can't handle a group of muggle muggers."

"You want to go back?" Harry offered. "I'm sure we could get you there."

"No thanks," Draco said, shaking his head. "You'd only follow me and I'd end up having to save you again."

"You didn't save me at all," Harry protested. He pushed the door open and walked into the house, followed by the other two. "We saved you."

"Um, I think we've got more serious problem than who saved who," Hermione interrupted. "We've got mail."

Harry glanced back through the open door and saw the familiar brown owl of the Ministry. It swooped towards him and dropped the letter it held in its beak into his open hands. It didn't even wait to see if he'd caught it before veering and vanishing into the night. Harry held the scarlet envelope gingerly, wondering just how he would get out of it this time. Slowly, he opened the letter and read it. He blinked and read it again. Finally, Draco ripped it out of his hands and read it out loud.

_Dear Misters Potter and Malfoy and Miss Granger,_

_We have received information that you preformed a number of illegal charms and spells tonight in the business district of London. Under normal circumstances, this would result in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the breakage of your wands. However, due to the unusual circumstances of this incident, the department has chosen to allow you to go free. However, you are warned that if any such infringement of the law recurs, the Ministry of Magic will not be so lenient._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Malfada Hopkirk._

Draco looked up. "Well," he said dryly. "Apparently people like us in the Ministry. Who would have thought?"

Hermione shrugged. "It works out well for us," she pointed out.

Harry frowned. "But what do they expect in return?" he demanded.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Do you really think that they'll do this for free?" Harry asked her.

She sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "But why can't they just be trying to make up for all they they've put us through?"

He raised his eyebrows, and she sighed. "You're right," she said. "That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it?"

"I don't know about you," Draco interrupted, "but I'm going to bed. The two of you can argue all you want, but I'm not going to pay attention."

"He's right," Hermione observed, watching him go. "We should probably turn in for the night."

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead," he said. "I'll be up in a little while."

She vanished through the hall and up the stairs, leaving Harry alone on the doorstep. He sat down slowly, gazing up at the starts above him. They were the same ones as always, the same ones he'd studied incessantly in both Astronomy and Divinations, but tonight they seemed to hold a special message.

"Do you have anything to tell me?" he murmured absently, his eyes tracing the constellations that he recognized and admiring the patterns that he didn't. He was drawn to the belt of tiny lights that made up the constellation Draco. His eyes followed it, tracing the lines and filling in the missing bits that turned it into a complete picture. Almost seamlessly, his mind moved from the picture in the stars to the boy bearing the same name. Draco had been marvelous tonight. He'd leapt to defend them like the knights of old were rumored to have done with their ladies. Watching him confront the muggles, Harry had felt an odd feeling running through him. Respect, certainly, but something else. Something that he'd felt before, but never this strongly. Could it be?

"Stop right there, mate," he told himself firmly. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking such thoughts. There would _never_ be a time to think such things. He knew that he didn't want to risk his friendship with Draco, and admitting to fancies like that would most definitely kill the friendship. There was no point in dwelling on it, especially as he wasn't sure if he knew what he was feeling. Even so, his eyes strayed one last time to the constellation as he stepped into the house and locked the door.

* * *

All good things must come to an end, and so our Christmas holiday drew to a close. We packed up our things, pulled the dust covers over the furniture, and tore down the puzzle. Every moment was precious to me: they might be the last time that I could be around him without fear of discovery. Even during detention, there was always the fear of being caught. And so, I'm afraid I became a bit clingy during the last few days of our winter retreat. I know that he noticed, but he thankfully didn't say anything. I caught Granger eyeing me speculatively a few times, but I glared her into submission whenever I noticed. I have no desire whatsoever to have her feeling sorry for me.

Even with my attempts to make the time last, there came the day that we had to be back at the train. Harry cooked us one last breakfast, and we ate it almost solemnly, all presumably storing memories to conserve and keep as reminders that the world was not always as bleak as it seemed to be most of the time. We cleared our plates, scraping off the food the muggle way and washing them with actual soap and water, doing as much as we could without magic. One last trip through the house to make sure we hadn't left anything behind, and then we couldn't put it off any longer. I even consented to let them take the subway, suffering silently through it for his sake.

The train ride back to school was uneventful. I spent most of my time in a carriage to myself, glaring moodily out the window. It wouldn't be the same at school, of course. I knew that it could never be as I truly wished it to be, and the looks I'd caught him giving me a couple times could only be my imagination. Even so, dreams die hard, and this one was particularly stubborn. I couldn't bring myself to kill it completely. I even found myself contemplating paying his carriage a visit, but I couldn't let myself do it. The more I talked to him now, the harder it would be to go back to the old cycle of hatred. We'd been living on borrowed time, and eventually it would all run out and everything would snap back to how it had been before. I hoped I would have the strength to bear it when it happened.

We got off the train at Hogsmeade as usual, and I brushed right past him without even looking back. I was proud of my own self-control, and I tried my best to ignore the tightening in my heart that followed that small act of defiance.

Unfortunately, it is very easy to talk, and even easier to plan. Putting said plans into action, however, is far less easy. I found that it was a constant battle to avoid Harry's eye in the hallways and keep away from him even during detentions. It didn't help that Pansy was suspicious and kept wanting to know what we'd fought about. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we hadn't fought about anything.

By the second week of class, I was at the end of my rope. I needed to know what was going on in his life, and I couldn't ask him. If I did, I would never leave him again, and it would hurt far more than it did right now. But who could I ask? I frowned, biting the end of my quill absently. The ink spurted into my mouth and I gagged, grabbing a glass of water and emptying it with a single gulp in an attempt to get rid of the awful taste. When my taste buds had returned to almost normal functionality, I dried my quill off and set it down. I believe that that single moment cured me permanently of my habit of chewing on quills. No more sugar ones for me, thank you very much.

Slowly, I picked it up again and dipped it once more into the ink. It's green ink, the same color as his eyes. I bought it last year when I was feeling especially low. If I'm asked about it, I can always call it house loyalty and send them on their way. I suppose that Pansy knows the truth of the matter, and Granger might be able to figure it out, but they're a small minority. Most of the population of Hogwarts wouldn't make the connection simply because they can't imagine Draco Malfoy being gay. Especially not gay _and_ in love with none other than Harry Potter. I imagine that my secret's fairly safe simply because it's so far outside the reaches of most people's imaginations.

I pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and eyed it for a moment. Then, making my decision, I placed the tip of my quill delicately on the pristine surface and began to write.

* * *

_Author's note two: to give credit where it's due, jamie belongs to diana gabaldon, and numair belongs to tamora pierce. erm, i think that's it. hope you like dit. oh, and just a random note: ff. net, in its infinite wisdom, does not allow url's. so that means that neither links nor email adresses show up in the reviews. so far, only one person has left me their email through a review, and i didn't get it. i'm very, very sorry that i can't answer you. i would, except that i have no actual way to contact you. so either send me an email, or add your email in the apropriate place when leaving anonymous reviews. and this goes for all anonymous reviewers, not just the one who left her email in a reveiw. TheGirlWithCheeseInHerPocket, if you're reading this, i really would love to answer you, but i can't.  
this really is it, i promise!  
--kyra _


	15. 6: secrets 1

_Author's note: look, a new chapter! like, a _real_ new chapter, not a continuation of an old one. -grins- unfortunately, i'm not sure i like this one very much. -sigh- after you've read this section and the next one, let me know what you think?  
Disclaimer: If anyone can give me the rights to harry potter, i'll give them coffee. actually, on second thought, i don't want them. all i want is the talent to write my own multi-million dollar series. -grins-  
--kyra  
Extra note: Actually, it's _me_ who wants to write the multi-million dollar series, not her!  
--Tamara_

_

* * *

_

6: secrets

Harry looked in surprise at the owl in front of Hermione's plate. She never received any mail except for the Prophet, and that owl had already been and gone. With a frown, she detached the letter from the owl's foot. After helping itself to a bite of Ron's sausage, the owl sprang into the air and took off through the Great Hall, making for the open windows. Harry leaned over to glance at the envelope. It was unsigned, and there was no hint as to whom it was from. The two looked at each other in puzzlement, then Hermione carefully slit the letter open with a clean butter knife. She read the letter, blinked, swore under her breath, and shoved it into her pocket.

Ron, who'd managed to hear the swear word, pushed back his untouched sausage and demanded, "Who's it from, Hermione?"

She frowned, as though trying to make up her mind. Harry watched her carefully, alert for clues. Finally, she blurted out, "Victor."

Ron blanched, and glared darkly at her pocket. "What's _he_ doing, writing to you?"

"We're still friends, Ron," Hermione retorted, picking up a piece of toast in an effort to stop her hands from shaking. "I'm allowed to be friends with boys other than you, you know."

Ron blushed beet red, but didn't back down. "But why do you have to be friends with _him_?"

Hermione stood, pushing her chair away from the table sharply. "I can be friends with whomever I want, Ronald," she said, obviously doing her best to moderate her volume. "You don't tell me what to do!"

She stalked out of the room, leaving a baffled Ron. He looked at Harry. "What did I say?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, not really paying attention. He didn't think he was wrong about the signature of the letter, and he knew that Hermione was definitely _not_ writing to Victor Krum.

He excused himself as soon as was possible, and tore through the castle, looking for Hermione. He finally found her leaning against the entrance to the Arithmancy classroom, absorbed in the letter. She saw him coming, and stuffed it away hurriedly.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What do you think I'm doing? I want to know why in the name of God Draco's writing to you!"

She shrugged. "I have no idea, Harry."

"You always were a terrible liar, Hermione," he said flatly.

"Well, this time it's the truth!" she said, her voice rising shrilly. "I really don't know, and if you hadn't interrupted me, I might!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Read the letter and tell me!"

"Why do I have to tell _you_?!" she demanded furiously. "As I told Ron, who I write to and who writes to me is none of his concern, and it's none of yours either! Just go away and leave me in peace for once, will you?"

He felt himself getting angry, and fought to keep his temper. "Ron would blow up completely if he knew. I won't."

"And that means that I should just give you the key to my diary and tell you to read all about my life?" she yelled. "You're living in a dream world, Harry Potter, and I intend to wake you up!" She reached over and slapped him hard on the face. Then she wheeled, and stomped down the hallway. The painting of an elderly, white-haired matron looked at Harry sternly. Harry ignored her, and walked slowly down the hallway and out into the open air.

* * *

Hermione pointedly ignored the two boys for the rest of the morning. Ron and Harry stayed silent, hoping that this penance would be enough to restore her good graces, but there was no such luck. She swept past them into the Transfiguration classroom, and refused to say a word, or even look in their direction for the rest of the class. As a result, neither of their desks were adorned with the flowers that they were supposed to be conjuring, and McGonagall assigned them both extra homework. Hermione allowed herself a smug smile.

As the class trickled out, Harry was left alone with Draco. Since coming back from Grimmauld Place, the other boy had been strangely quiet, spending lots of their time in detention absorbed in a book, or even just in contemplation of the view from the window. Harry found the sessions strangely lonely, and he wondered just what he'd done to deserve such treatment.

Even so, today Harry was determined not to allow Draco to lapse into his own world. As soon as McGonagall had closed the door and left them, he asked, "Why did you write to Hermione?"

Draco looked up at him. "I have a right to write to people, do I not?"

"But why her?"

"We are working together. I merely had a few questions concerning the project."

Harry knew as well as Draco did that this wasn't the entire story. "You could have asked her in person," he pressed. "Why the trouble of a letter?"

Draco put his book down and looked up at Harry. "Harry, I can write to whomever I damn well choose to write to," he snapped. "Since when do you dictate my life?"

Harry reeled. To be told that once in a day was a slap in the face. To be told _twice_ was a veritable bucket of icy water. "I was just curious," he said stiffly.

"Well don't be," Draco told him sharply. "What I do with my life is my own problem, not yours."

"Fine," Harry said angrily. "Fine. And when the next catastrophe comes, I'll remember that, shall I?"

"Do," Draco agreed. "I don't need you, Harry. You don't always have to try to protect me."

Harry turned sharply away and strode furiously over to the window-seat. He dumped his books onto the ground with a resounding thump and clambered onto the seat with the second of the Earth's Children books. He tried to drown himself in the world of Ms. Auel and convince his emotions that his feelings were not hurt _at all_. He almost succeeded.

Hermione was surprised that Malfoy had written to her, but under the weight of both boys' accusations, she was more determined than ever to write back. After all, who were _they_ to tell her what to do? She was her own witch, a legal adult, and they couldn't control her! She used the time that she had before class to read his letter more thoroughly, trying to decide how and when to answer.

_Granger._

_You might wonder why I'm writing to you, and to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if you just burned this. On second thought, no. You wouldn't burn paper; you're far too environmentally conscious for that. But enough small talk. The nub of the matter is this: I have a question for you that can't be spoken out loud. At least, it can't be spoken between two people like us._

_Here's my question. What do you intend to do about the current situation? You know the one I mean. Actually, what I really want to know is what _Harry's_ going to do. As I'm sure you figured out, he's become one of my very good friends, and I don't like not knowing what he's planning. Of course, you might not know either, but if you do, I would appreciate it if you'd at least give me a hint._

_D. Malfoy_

She read it a second time, then carefully transfigured the parchment into a piece of blank paper. It wouldn't do to be seen with a letter from Malfoy, no matter _what_ he'd been asking. The actual text of the letter made it even more crucial to keep it hidden. As she considered how to answer, Professor Vector walked into the classroom. She nodded to Hermione, who nodded back, then placed her things on the desk and sat down. They didn't speak, and the rest of the class arrived soon after. Hermione temporarily forgot Malfoy's letter as she entered into an hour's rapt contemplation of Merlin's Table of Mystic Numbers.

The letter couldn't be ignored forever, though, and she eventually had to compose an answer. She chose to skip lunch, deciding that she'd rather go hungry than have to face Harry's and Ron's glares, and closeted herself in the library. She piled books around her piece of parchment as a defense against prying eyes and closed her eyes for a moment as she considered what to write. Finally, she uncorked her inkbottle and dipped her quill, carefully wiping it off before setting it to the parchment and beginning to write.

_Malfoy._

_You're right, I wouldn't burn paper. It's a waste of good resources, and we have more than enough fuel already. Besides, Harry and Ron got quite annoying about wanting to know what you had to say, and I got stubborn and decided to answer you properly. So, I suppose you have Ron to thank for my answer. Ironic, isn't it?_

_Moving on to your actual question, I'm afraid I have no idea. I'll try to talk with Harry, but I'm still quite angry with him at the moment, so it might be a few days. I'll write you again when I've found anything out._

_However, if I'm going to keep writing to you, you'd better think of a proper story. I'd rather my name not come into it, if at all possible. Gossip runs like anything here, as you well know, and I've got enough enemies already. I'd rather not turn my potential allies against me. No offence intended to you, of course, but I'm sure you understand. Ron and Harry believe that you are Victor Krum, or at least Ron does. Harry saw your signature, but I think I've told him firmly enough that it's none of his business. I'd suggest you do the same. He can be annoyingly persistent, as I'm sure you've noticed._

_H. Granger_

She reread the note, adding words in here and there as they were required, and thanking God for her quill: it was self-correcting, and she could slip words in without needing to worry about making room. Finally, when she was sure she had everything the way she wanted, she gathered her things together and left the library. She climbed the stairs to the owlrey, wishing that wizards would find a magical equivalent to elevators. They made life so much easier, especially for students who didn't get quite as much exercise as they should.

Hermione didn't own an owl of her own, and anyway, for something like this, it was easier to just use a generic brown one. She chose a calm-looking barn owl and fed it a treat from the bin outside the door. As it digested, watching her with suspicious yellow eyes, she tied the note onto its leg.

"This goes to the Slytherin common room," she told it.

It nodded once, swallowed, and took off. She watched it go, then glanced at her watch. There were three more minutes of lunch, and her next class was on the other end of the castle. She set off, hoping that she wouldn't be late.

She didn't have a chance to talk to Harry for the next several days. Finally, she cornered him coming out of the dormitory and demanded to talk to him. He looked at her in suspicion, and she supposed that he assumed she was trying to yell at him again. Sure enough, his first words were, "Whatever Ron's said, I don't care who you write to."

"You'd better not," Hermione agreed. "But that's not what I want to know."

"Then what is it?" he asked, dropping into a seat next to her.

She took a deep breath, composing herself. She'd spent the last few days trying to think of a way to ask her question without revealing Malfoy, and she hoped that she'd succeeded.

"I've been wondering, what are you doing next year?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, now that… he's back, what will you do?"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it," he admitted. "I guess I always assumed that I'd finish school and then tackle it. Why?"

"Because I want to go with you, of course," Hermione said indignantly. That wasn't even a lie, she thought.

He sighed. "Are you sure?" he asked her wearily. "You know that you might die, right?"

She shrugged. "What's life without a little risk?" she asked, repeating one of her sister's favorite quotes. Actually, it had never really occurred to her that she might die. But she'd already said that she was going, and she was far too proud to back down now.

"This would be a _lot_ of risk," he warned. "You could get killed. Or worse, expelled."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You need to get your priorities right, apparently," she muttered.

He shrugged. "I'm only trying to see it from your point of view," he explained.

"You think _I_ think like that?" she demanded. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know what you think."

"Fine," he said. "So does that answer your question?"

"It does," she said. "Thank you very much."

He nodded to her, then stood up. He gathered up his things and left. She waited until he'd passed through the portrait hole, then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.

* * *

Parvati was amazed at how easy it was to get the permission from Ginny. The way the younger redhead looked at her, Parvati suspected that Ginny knew that something was going on, but she didn't say anything. She only shrugged, and went off to talk to Harry. And that left Parvati waiting for Valentine's Day with an eagerness that amazed her. She knew perfectly well that Harry was taken, and it didn't matter in the slightest that she'd liked him forever. He didn't like her back. End of story. But it was harder to forget than she'd imagined.

_She was sitting in the common room just before Christmas of her fourth year, thinking about nothing much at all. A book was open in front of her, but she couldn't focus on any of the words. Idly, she watched the fire sputter in the grate, noting that it wasn't really red. There were the expected oranges and yellows, but she could see greens and blues snuggled in between those more usual colors. She wondered why no one had ever told her that fires could be blue and green. Surely Professor Flitwick could have mentioned it!_

_She was startled out of her half-hypnotized state by the sound of people coming in through the portrait hole. She looked up in irritation, only to see his green eyes looking down at her. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Why hadn't she noticed his eyes before? They caught her own gold ones and held them, entrancing her as thoroughly as the fire had. She knew before he even asked what he was going to say, and she knew what her answer would be. Of course she would go to the ball with him. The only surprise was that he asked about Ron as well. She didn't even stop to think about it, only blurted out that she would get her sister to go. Padma had complained, of course, but Parvati's powers of persuasion were considerable, and she managed to convince her sister to go. _

_The dance itself had been awful. He had basically ignored her, and she hadn't enjoyed herself at all. But she couldn't take her eyes off him. He held her attention and wouldn't let it go, and she had to wonder if he'd learned more in Divinations than she'd thought. But no. He seemed to have no idea of his power over her. In fact, he seemed to be bored out of his mind. So what was wrong with her? She shifted slightly, trying to get away from the power of his gaze. Her eyes caught one of the cuter French boys, gazing at her with the same star-struck expression that they all did. She hesitated, then nodded to him. Anything to get away from Harry. She stood, dragged her sister away from Ron, and went off to dance with the French boy. He was charming and polite, and an excellent dancer, but she couldn't get her mind off Harry. As the night drew to a close, she kissed her French boy gently, winked, and sauntered off. She couldn't even remember his name._

_Back in the dormitory, Lavender grinned at her. "So it's finally happened," she remarked._

"_I don't know what you're talking about," Parvati told her friend stiffly._

"_Of course you don't," Lavender agreed. "Good luck, though."_

_Parvati sniffed, and drew the curtains around her bed. She knew perfectly well what Lavender meant, and she was already scheming to get him for herself._

It hadn't worked, of course, but that didn't matter. Now he'd finally agreed to go out with her, all be it two years late, and she would show him just how much fun she could be.

When Valentine's Day finally rolled around, she spent an hour and a half just staring at her closet, wondering what was the matter with her. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Parvati was nervous about going out with a boy. She couldn't decide what to wear, how to do her hair, whether to wear heavy makeup or not… she was a total wreck. Lavender watched her try to get ready with a barely concealed grin. Finally, Parvati threw down her fifteenth potential outfit and demanded, "What?"

"Will you let me give you a tip?" Lavender asked.

"Anything!"

"Then relax. If you want him to like you, then just calm down. I will make you irresistible."

Parvati took a deep breath, then nodded. Lavender grinned brightly and got to work.

True to her word, when Lavender was done, Parvati had to admit that she looked good. She was wearing a two-piece skirt and blouse combination that was tasteful yet flattering. Her long straight black hair had been brushed till it shone and left loose. Lavender had done her makeup so well that Parvati had to remember every single stroke to note where it all was. She wore small silver hoops and a delicately ornate unicorn pendant. Her wrists were bare, but she wore a single silver charm anklet. Her feet were shod with a pair of sandals borrowed from Lavender.

"See?" Lavender asked, putting down the hairbrush and grinning. "It wasn't that hard, was it?"

"Thank you so much!" Parvati enthused, hugging her friend gratefully. "I don't know what's wrong with me today!"

"You want this too badly," Lavender said seriously. "You want him, and you're not used to it."

Parvati frowned. "What do you mean?"

"How long's it been since you went out with a boy because _you_ were madly in love with him, not the other way around?"

Parvati frowned, then admitted, "A long time."

"So you're just not used to it anymore." Lavender gave her a confidant grin. "Don't worry. You'll be fabulous, just like you always are."

"Thanks," Parvati said gratefully. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, took a deep breath, rearranged her hair infinitesimally, and walked out and down the stairs to the common room.

Harry was waiting for her, and he smiled as he saw her. "You look gorgeous, Parvati," he told her. "Shall we go?"

"Thank you," Parvati told him, fighting to keep her composure. What was _wrong_ with her? She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pictured the rippling meadow that was her mind. She slowly sank into it, and little by little regained her center. When she opened her eyes again, she was collected and calm once more. She smiled coquettishly at him. "After you."

They walked out of the common room together and down to the group of milling students. Filch crossed them off grouchily, and they walked out of the castle along with the rest of the students. The carriages were waiting, and Harry opened the door for Parvati. She climbed daintily in and he clambered after her. The carriage had no other occupants, and when they set off for Hogsmeade, she smiled at him. "You do realize that I intend for you to spend the _entire_ day with me, don't you?"

Harry nodded, smiling back. "I promise that I won't go off on any interviews this time."

"Good. I don't think I could bear to share you with that awful Skeeter woman."

He frowned. "Parvati, let me make one… no, two things clear. The first is this: I'm going with you as a friend only. I have a girlfriend, and we're happy together. I think that you are a wonderful person, but I'm not interested like _that_."

She nodded, trying to contain her disappointment. "I understand. And the other?"

"I absolutely _refuse_ to set foot in Madam Puddyfoot's."

Parvati burst out laughing. "That makes two of us then," she told him. He looked immensely relieved.

To Parvati's surprise, she actually had fun. She'd asked him out mainly because it was something Lavender had dared her to do years before. Sure, she had a crush on him, but that didn't matter in the scheme of things. She'd had her shot at romance when they were fourteen, and it had failed utterly. Now, she had basically given up of Harry Potter as her boyfriend. But she hadn't expected him to be her friend.

He was charming and attentive, and he was well enough informed to be able to answer most of her comments. He wasn't too proud to admit when something passed over his head, and he kept her laughing over a mid-morning Butterbeer pause. Hogsmeade took on a new look through his eyes, she realized, as she listened him tell stories about his various adventures there. She would never, for instance, look at Malfoy in the same way after hearing the story about how Harry had thrown snowballs at him from under the invisibility cloak that he had apparently received his first Christmas at Hogwarts.

In her turn, and with his prompting, she told him stories about her own childhood. She recounted the numerous scrapes she'd convinced Padma to get into with her, and told about growing up as an Indian witch in Britain. He seemed genuinely interested, and he knew how to ask intelligent questions. Over lunch, which she allowed him to buy her, they talked about Quidditch, which Parvati knew quite a bit about, and Ron, who Parvati suspected Lavender of having a crush on. As they strolled through some of the less frequented streets after their meal, she asked, "Harry?"

"Mm?" he answered, turning to look at him.

"Do you realize how much you've changed since last time I was with you?"

He grimaced slightly. "About that. Parvati, I'm really sorry about the way I treated you. I was a complete and utter prat, and I'm sorry."

Parvati shrugged, grinning. "We were all much younger then," she told him, quoting one of her mother's favorite sayings. "You're forgiven. But answer my question."

He sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "People tell me that I've changed, and I don't notice. It's driving my mad!"

"Well, take it from me, you have. You know how to talk to people now, and you're not boring anymore."

"Thank you – I think," he said. "I'm going to assume that that was a compliment, not an obscure female insult."

She grinned. "It's a compliment," she assured him. "Girls hate boring men."

"Then it's a relief to know that I'm not one."

They continued walking for a while longer, both thinking their own thoughts. Parvati was wrestling with her inner romantic, assuring herself that this was just a date as friends, and that he most assuredly Was Not Interested. He'd _told_ her, for Shiva's sake! But she couldn't help hoping.

"Parvati?" he asked suddenly, bringing her out of her thoughts with a start.

"Yes Harry?"

He was blushing, she realized with a start. Was he…?

"You're… good with relationships, right?"

She tilted her head. "My own, or other people's?"

"Other people's."

"I can be. Why?"

"Can I trust you to keep silent?"

She grinned. "Absolutely," she promised. "Spill."

He sighed. "Let's find a place to sit first. This may take some time, and my feet are getting tired."

Parvati considered making some sort of crack about Quidditch players spending all their time in the clouds, but refrained heroically. They walked the streets until they found a promising looking café, and he gestured for her to go first.

The first burst of warmth shocked Parvati to the core. She hadn't realized until then just how cold she was. Lavender's outfit was stunning, but it wasn't particularly warm. She wondered suddenly at her friend's motives, then dismissed them as unimportant. Lavender was even more of a romantic than Parvati herself. Completely illogically, Parvati began to shiver as she advanced farther into the warm room. Harry must have seen it, because he led her to a table by the fire and made her sit. He sat down opposite her, and a moment later, a waitress sidled up to them.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, taking them in with a single glance. Harry had turned his head slightly so that his scar wasn't visible, and the ease with which he did this made Parvati think that he'd had many long years of practice.

"Hot cocoa," Parvati told the waitress, glancing at Harry. He shrugged. "Two, please. With cinnamon and mint on the side."

The waitress nodded, grinned at them, and promptly vanished.

Harry looked at Parvati. "Cinnamon _and_ mint?"

She shrugged. "They make a decent combination. Padma hates it, but then, she won't put anything at all in her drinks." Parvati made a face. "She has _no_ sense of adventure whatsoever."

The waitress popped back over to their table and handed out the drinks. She lingered, but when it was obvious that the two of them wouldn't talk while she was there, she pouted slightly, and slid away to eavesdrop on the next table. Harry glanced at her, then subtly removed his wand from his pocket and cast silencing wards around the table. They sipped their drinks for a moment, Parvati adding spices as she saw fit, and Harry toying with his spoon more than actually drinking. Finally, Parvati asked, "So? What's up?"

He sighed, and began to study the swirls that his spoon made in the cocoa with intense concentration. "It's… it's about Ginny."

* * *

Harry had thought long and hard about whether to tell anyone about what he was feeling. After all, it had been totally engrained into his psyche not to tell anyone anything. It had kept him mostly unhurt through most of his years at Privet Drive, and it protected him and his friends from Voldemort. After all, what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. Right? But now he was confused, and he thought that, if he could only say his thoughts out loud, then they might make more sense. The problem had been finding who to talk to. Ron was out, as were both Ginny and Draco. None of them would really understand, and he would just end up hurting them. Hermione, completely oblivious, apparently, to Ron's interest in her, was out as well. He doubted that she would have had anything useful to say. And so there really hadn't been anyone to talk to.

But now, here was Parvati. She was the universally acknowledged Matchmaking Queen of the school, and she knew about complicated things like feelings and betrayal. He knew very well that the younger girls came to her for counseling about their love lives, and she seemed capable of giving reasonable advice. Besides, she was here, and there was a silence barrier around them, and she'd promised to listen.

She was looking at him with concern now, and he heard her ask, "Is there a problem with Ginny?"

He sighed. This would be where it got hard. "I'm not sure."

"I might be able to help you if you would tell me the entire story," she said patiently. "As it is, I have no idea what you're talking about."

He hung his head. "Couldn't you… you know… just ask me questions? I don't know how to tell the story."

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Fine. First question. Is there a problem between the two of you? Does she seem to want to leave, for instance?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Do _you_ want to leave?"

"I don't know! That's just my problem, Parvati!"

"Calm down," she ordered. She picked up his cup of cocoa and sprinkled some mint into it, stirring until it had all dissolved. "Drink."

He dutifully put the cup to his lips, noting how the mint had changed the taste very slightly. It was still good, but he thought that he preferred it without the added seasoning. It seemed to have the desired effect, though, because Parvati leaned back in her chair again. "Do you feel like you still love her?"

He frowned, considering the question carefully. If asked spontaneously, he would have said, yes, of course he loved her. But did he? All of a sudden he wasn't sure, and it frightened him. "I asked her to the ball," he said carefully.

Parvati rolled her eyes elegantly again. "Harry, Michael Corner asked me to that ball. It doesn't mean that he's in love with me."

"He is, though," Harry told her.

Parvati sighed. "No, he's infatuated. Do you know the difference between the two?"

"Of course!"

"What is it?"

He started to answer, then closed his mouth in puzzlement.

She nodded. "I thought so. Only about one in about fifty males and one in twenty girls know the difference between the two words."

"And it is?" Harry prompted when she seemed reluctant to give out the information. He was suddenly deeply interested in this. Why it should matter so much, he didn't know, but he had to know the true meaning of both words.

"Infatuation is a short-lived thing, usually only a few months. The person that you're interested in seems to be covered in a halo of light, and they can do no wrong in your eyes. If you're lucky, then it'll pass and no harm will be done, apart from you losing rather a lot of sleep and weight, and paying no attention whatsoever in classes. If you're unlucky, then someone notices, or the person returns the feeling and is braver than you are. Infatuations result in more broken hearts than any other kind of affair, you know."

"And love?"

"Love is more subtle. Most of the time, you don't realize that you're in love until it's too late. There isn't a definite starting point of love, and it never ends. If you're truly in love with someone, then it's for life. You want to be with them through everything, and nothing can drive you apart. You have your fights and your quarrels, and you can try to hate each other bitterly for years at a time, but if you're truly in love, then you'll always come back."

"Sounds like predestination," Harry muttered.

She blinked, then shrugged. "It's slightly the same," she admitted. "Though in love you don't always follow your true path. In predestination, you have no choice. Rebirth is so much nicer."

He started. "You're Hindu?"

She nodded. "What did you expect? My family's Indian, after all. But back to the subject at hand. Are you in love with Ginny?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't know. I want to be. I mean, she's nice and all, but…"

"There's someone else?" Parvati suggested delicately.

"I don't _know_!" Harry burst out again. "You're supposed to be telling me this!"

"Harry, I can't dictate your love life for you. Suffering Shiva, I can hardly dictate my own! I can advise and suggest, but that's about all."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Give me facts."

"Ginny is my girlfriend. I loved her in August. I asked her to the ball with me. I might very possibly have slight feelings other than friendship for someone else, but I don't know if they return it, and I don't want to ditch Ginny to find out. Enough for you?"

Parvati sighed herself. "No names?"

Harry shook his head vigorously.

"It might help, you know."

"No names," he said firmly.

"Fine. Well, from what you've told me, then I would advise you to stay with Ginny. I've watched her long enough to know that she truly does care for you, and if you don't know if the other person returns your feelings… well, why jeopardize a perfectly good relationship for someone you don't know about?"

"Put like that," Harry murmured, turning the facts over in his mind. What she said made sense, after all. What was the saying? Better a less-than-ideal girlfriend than none at all? Something like that.

She nodded. "Unless you give me details, I'm afraid I can't be of more help than that."

He shrugged. "You've helped anyway. Thanks a lot." His hot cocoa suddenly seemed much more appealing, and he swallowed what remained in a single gulp. "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded again. "I'll pay this time." Before he could protest, she'd pulled out a subtly concealed purse and deposited several sickles onto the table. Harry removed the ward from the table, and they braced themselves to go back out into the cold of the outside air.

* * *

"Ginny!" The shout made her stop and turn back. Harry was running to catch up to her. He stopped, panting slightly in an effort to catch his breath.

"Yes?"

"Will you go to the ball with me?"

"What ball?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Weren't you listening to Dumbledore at lunch?"

"Obviously not." Ginny hadn't even attended lunch. Emily's mother had written to say that her dog had died, and Ginny had stayed in the dormitory with her friend. She wondered why Harry hadn't remembered. "What did I miss?"

"Dumbledore's said that there's going to be yet _another_ ball. This one just happens to be on Valentines Day, and everyone third year and above is welcome, no, _encouraged_ to attend."

"And you have to have a partner, do you?"

He shrugged. "It would be nice, yes. If you don't want to go with me, I'm sure that Luna would be happy to."

Ginny made a face. "You'd replace me with _Luna_? I don't _think_ so!"

"So you'll go with me?"

"If only to save you from Luna. Of _course_ I'll go with you Harry!"

He grinned. "I am looking forward to it immensely."

She spent the next week wondering what on Earth she was going to wear. There was no way that she could ask her mum to buy her dress robes, and no one she knew had any to lend. She realized with a slight sigh that she was going to have to transfigure something.

The day of the ball, Flitwick secured his reputation as her favorite teacher of all time by letting his last hour Charms class out early. Ginny sprinted to the dormitory, and pulled open her section of the wardrobe. There was nothing even remotely possible in there, and she frowned, trying to think of what she wanted. Something tasteful, definitely. Green, perhaps. She'd always loved green, and it would bring out Harry's eyes. She would just have to deal with the whole Slytherin connotations. It wasn't like she was going to let House rivalries spoil her favorite color for her.

She grabbed a set of practical black robes at random and laid them out on her bed. She closed her eyes and carefully began to change them, beginning with the color and ending with a subtle lowering of the neckline and tightening of the waist. When she'd finished, she surveyed the results critically. It wouldn't pass any design contests, but as homemade robes went, it was passable. She set it carefully aside and drew a chair over to her mirror, carefully parting her long red hair down the middle. With long, languid brush strokes she combed all the tangles out, allowing its full glory to shine through. The gold highlights caught the late afternoon sun and reflected back. She frowned, then shrugged and carefully opened the tin of hair straightening potion that she'd bought last time she was in Hogsmeade. Switching from the brush to a sturdy comb, she began to comb the substance through her hair. It took a long time, and by the time it was all evenly coated, Emily and Mira had returned. They were talking in eager voices, and Ginny turned to join in.

"What have you done?" Emily squealed, catching sight of Ginny's flame-colored locks.

Ginny grinned and held out the jar of potion. "Instant hair-straightener," she said proudly. She shook her head slightly, allowing her now uncurled hair to swing enticingly. "It works until you wash your hair."

Emily grinned. "It suits you," she commented. "You should do it more often."

Ginny grimaced. "No thank you! It takes ages to do all the way through, and I don't have time every morning. Doing it this time was hard enough!"

"I want exactly the opposite," Mira said dejectedly, looking at her own pencil-straight brown hair. "It won't hold curls at _all_!"

"Sorry," Ginny said apologetically. "I've only got one kind."

"Don't worry about it," Mira said. "I'll live."

Ginny turned back to the mirror, scooting over slightly to allow Emily to apply her makeup. Ginny wore no makeup as a rule, but she wondered if she should make an exception for tonight. Emily, seeing her interest, grinned. "You like?" she asked, motioning to the range of cosmetics that she kept on her bedside table.

Ginny shrugged. "Can you make it as painless as possible?"

Emily nodded. "Leave it to me."


	16. 6: secrets 2

_Author's note: I'm sorry to all those people who reviewed: I won't have time to answer any of you until Sunday. -sighs- However, I do want to adress an issue that I think everyone brought up: Hermione slapping Harry. I agree, that was extreme, but it was also the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. That doesn't mean I aprove, and that will probably vanish during revision, but, for now, just keep letting me know what you like and don't like! I assure you, I will take your opinions into account when I revise this story. So if there's anything that you notice that could be improved, changed, or taken out, do not hesitate to let me know!  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Realism, after all, is a virtue.  
--Tamara_

* * *

_Twenty minutes later, Ginny was properly made up and dressed. She'd left her hair loose, loving the way it swung without frizzing, and had carefully braided two thin braids into the front. These didn't slip behind her ears like the rest, but swung alluringly over her chest. She grinned at her reflection. No longer was she Ginny Weasley the tomboy, youngest girl in a family of six boys. Now, she was just Ginny, adult, sophisticated, and surprisingly attractive. Emily nodded approvingly. "He will eat you up," she promised._

Ginny grimaced. "If he appreciates me, then that'll be enough," she said. "I'd rather survive to see next year."

Emily rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what I mean," she said.

Ginny grinned. "I do," she agreed. "But teasing you is so much more fun."

Emily sighed. "Well don't. Stick these in please?" She held out a palm full of bobby pins, which Ginny obligingly placed in the tower of hair that Emily had constructed. A quick binding spell reinforced the pins, and Emily tilted her head, studying her reflection.

Mira too had taken extra care with herself. She hadn't done anything with her hair –it was too thin to do anything with, and she despaired of ever thickening it with any kind of charm – but she'd carefully brushed it until it gleamed softly. Emily had done her makeup as well, and she too looked older than she was. She wore silver floor length dress robes, and matching shoes. It was tasteful and elegant, and it suited her perfectly. Emily, on the other hand, had gone all out. Her robes were a glory of red and gold, and she was in the act of carefully perching a tiara on the top of her tower of hair. All three girls wore jewelry, and Emily had done her nail alternating red and gold. She'd tried to convince Ginny to paint hers green, but Ginny had steadfastly refused. She hated painting her nails, and the thought of having Emily do it for her gave her the chills. The sight of Mira, who'd succumbed to peer pressure, undergoing the manicure only reinforced her horror.

As dances went, it was an unqualified success. Ginny danced with Harry and with Colin. She could care less about Colin, but she knew that he fancied her, and she wasn't cruel enough to just ignore him. She knew how much that hurt. Parvati breezed by to tell her that she was beautiful – a high compliment indeed from the Indian Witch – and even Lavender had to admit that she looked 'better.' Ginny ignored her. She didn't like Lavender.

The ball had been opened to any family members above the age of thirteen who wanted to come, and Hermione's sister had come the day before. She's dressed in Hermione's dormitory, and Ginny got her first good look at her as she entered the room with her sister. She was pretty, much more so than Hermione, and she'd obviously taken care to look good. Or at least, to look original. Her black hair was combed out to the middle of her back and left loose like Ginny's. A single blue streak went straight down the middle, and it managed never to get lost among the mass of black. She wasn't wearing a dress, but a skirt and top. Fishnet stockings covered her legs, and the skirt hardly passed the middle of her thighs. She wore what appeared to be simply a black strap around her upper body, albeit one that covered all the important bits. She'd done her makeup so as to make herself as vivid as possible, and it was working. Her lips were covered in black lipstick, which would have looked horrid on anyone but her. Her face was covered very slightly with powder, which made it appear a few shades lighter. She wore heavy mascara and electric blue eye shadow that matched the streak in her hair. One ear was adorned with a black rose, and the other with two pieces of a broken heart. She was certainly the most noticeable girl in the entire hall, muggle or not.

"The hair's dyed," Hermione confided, watching her sister flirt expertly with three boys at the same time. "I have no idea _where_ she got those clothes, because mum and dad would throw a fit if they knew."

"Well she's certainly making an impression. Look, even Malfoy's impressed."

Belle had sidled up to the blond Slytherin, and they were holding a slightly hostile conversation. Neither showed any signs of leaving, though, and Ginny could only conclude that they enjoyed insulting each other.

"We met him over the summer. She seemed to think that he was worth baiting."

"Well he didn't kill her, so she must have done _something_ right."

Harry rolled his eyes. "We were all amazed when she came back not only alive but totally unharmed!"

Ginny laughed. They watched Belle take her leave and glide over to the two of them. She grinned at Harry. "Fancy meeting you here," she said.

Harry laughed. "Have we met before? I'm sure I would have remembered!"

"Oh stop it! This is how I would dress every day, if my parents would let me. As it is… well, they don't know that I own these and unless any of you let it slip, they won't know."

"And how do you propose to hide them from your parents?"

"They live at my friend Carla's house. Her parents could care less, and she lets me keep them there for free. She was totally jealous when I told her that I was coming here."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "You told her that you were coming here?" she asked angrily.

Belle looked at her in surprise. Then, understanding flashed across her face. "I keep forgetting. No, she doesn't know that I'm here. She just knows that I'm going to 'Mione's school for a Valentine's Day dance. I took a picture of Draco and me together, you understand."

Ginny felt her eyes go from narrowed to almost popping out. "You took a picture of you and Malfoy _together_?!"

Belle's eyes flashed with irritation. "He's not that bad, you know."

Ginny snorted. "I don't know how you do it. Trust me, if anyone else was to try to come up to him, he would just turn and stalk away."

"You're just prejudiced," Belle snapped.

"You're right, I am. With good reason, too. He hates my guts, in case you hadn't noticed."

Belle rolled her eyes and didn't answer. She breezed away to make contact with Luna. Ginny though a little cynically that the two of them should get along well together.

* * *

I tried to calm my racing pulse as I walked away from Harry, Hermione and Ginny. It wasn't their fault, at least not entirely. Draco certainly hadn't made any efforts to establish the connection, though I had a pretty good idea of why. After all, if what I thought I was seeing was true, then he would have a very good reason to want to hide it. I didn't know how the wizards handled the gay members of society, but I knew quite well what would happen in my school if he were found out, and I didn't care to think about it.

I drifted through the crowd, establishing links with most, if not all, of the boys in the room. I could sense the eyes that followed me, and allowed myself a small, slightly smug smile. Because I'd lied to Harry. Given the choice, I most certainly would _not_ dress like this every day. The clothes weren't even mine: they belonged to Carla and I'd had to beg her to let me borrow them for the week. As a general rule, I don't approve of showing off. I'm smart, and moderately talented, but I don't like to show it. But when I found out that I was going to be one of the only muggles in a roomful of teenage magical people, I realize pretty quickly that I needed to make myself stand out. The clothes had been the way that I'd chosen to do it. Obviously it had worked.

I turned in surprise as someone slid into the space created by the departure of my latest conquest. I looked at him, frowning a little. I was sure I recognized him, but fitting a name to the face was something else entirely. Zacharias, maybe? Yes, that sounded right.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked sweetly, looking up into his pale blue eyes.

"Come with me," he said shortly, grabbing my wrist. I frowned, and tried to tug myself free.

"Where are we going?"

"Out." We passed through the door into the garden, and he let me rather forcefully behind an ornamental shrub. There, he let me go and stood over me, looking straight into my eyes. I tried to contain the shudder that passed through me at the look in those blue orbs.

"What do you want?" I asked him steadily, doing my best not to show fear. I knew that, if it came down to a fight, he would have me pinned down before I could scream. He had magic and I didn't. I began to feel suddenly just how vulnerable I really was. Maybe dressing like a slut hadn't been the best way to go about attracting attention after all.

"Don't try to tell me that you don't know what I want," he told me. "You've been asking for it all evening."

"I haven't asked you for anything," I shot back. Just keep him talking, Belle. Sooner or later someone will find you. Oh dear God, please let it be sooner!

"You've been watching me. You think I don't know what that means?"

"I haven't been watching you at all, Zacharias. Now let me _go_!" Oops. Using his first name seemed to have been a bad move. His eyes gleamed and he lowered his mouth to mine. I had a sudden, unwanted image on myself on top of his body, and quickly repressed it. Things would _not_ get that far. I would kill him with my bare hands, magic or no, if he tried to force me.

"You don't want to do that," a cultured voice drawled nearby. My heart leapt as I twisted my head away from Zacharias' grip and saw Draco standing there casually holding his wand.

"What do you want with her, Malfoy?" Zacharias spat. He turned back to me, but Draco cleared his throat pointedly, drawing attention back to his wand.

"I want you to leave her alone," he said coldly. "Or I will fix you so that you can never catch any woman's eye ever again."

Zacharias slowly drew his own wand, but Draco had spoken some word before Zacharias had half finished and his wand flew up into the air. Draco caught it easily, and tossed it over his shoulder. I saw it roll off the path and into the flowers, and I knew that Zacharias had seen it as well. He backed away from me, keeping a wary eye on Draco. Draco turned to face me, his wand still trained on Zacharias, who was edging slowly around us, presumably to retrieve his wand. "How far did he get?"

I grinned, a little shakily. "He didn't, thanks to you. You arrived just in time."

"Making a conquest, Malfoy? I didn't think you'd lower yourself to _muggles_," Zacharias jeered from behind us. I supposed that he'd regained his wand: he didn't seem brave enough to try anything without it. Draco didn't turn away from me, only twisted his wrist sharply. There was a sharp blasting sound and Zacharias was blown into the bush.

"One more word out of you, Smith, and that will be a love tap," Draco promised, still not deigning to look at the unfortunate Zacharias. "I would suggest that you leave as quickly as you can."

"You are going to pay for this, Malfoy!" Zacharias snarled, scrambling up.

Draco shrugged, and said, "Silencio." Zacharias looked furious, but no sound was coming out of his mouth. Draco finally turned back to him. "Smith, I have been more than reasonable, don't you think? I warned you several times, and you chose to ignore those warnings. Now you are going to find out what happens to those who don't pay attention to me." He glanced in my direction. "Belle, you may want to leave now. It'll be ugly."

I shrugged. "I can handle that," I said, wondering if I could. I had no doubt as to Draco's character, and I knew very well that he was quite capable of beating a defenseless boy in cold blood. Not, of course, that Zacharias counted as defenseless.

"If you insist." He turned back to Zacharias, and began a series of quick and efficient spells. By the time he was done, Zacharias resembled nothing so much as a flesh colored slug. "I learned from what you did to me on the train last year," he told the shape. "And I don't forget. Madam Pomfrey should be able to sort you out."

I came out from behind the shrub, and surveyed Zacharias. "Impressive," I commented, forcing down the nausea that came at the sight of Draco's work.

"I do my best. Shall we get out of here?"

I nodded. "That might be the best idea." To my surprise, he led me, not back to the room, but farther into the garden. "I didn't let you save me just to let you try your luck," I warned.

"I promise you Belle, your virtue is safe in my hands."

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"Because we can't talk properly in there."

"What do you want to say?"

He sighed. "And I thought that you might want to yell at me. I'd rather not allow you to do that in public."

I started at him. "You want me to yell at you?"

"I didn't say that. I said that I thought you might want to. It's different."

"Why should I want to yell at you? You saved my skin!"

"Some people don't… approve of my methods."

I sighed. "I'm not going to say that it doesn't make me supremely nervous, but I don't think I have a right to yell at you. After all, as I've said at least twice now, you _did_ rescue me."

He grinned suddenly, and I realized that it was the first genuine grin that I'd ever seen on his face. "How very sweet of you."

"Don't push your luck," I warned. "I can be nasty."

He paused for a moment and looked at me closely. "Belle," he said finally. "I don't want to disappoint you. I think that you are a very interesting person, but I'm not interested in being anything… more."

I shrugged. "I know that. Neither am I, come to think of it. I know that I'm not the one that you want."

"What do you mean?" his voice was sharp, and I wondered briefly if this was the right thing to be mentioning. After all, I had just had a rather obvious demonstration of what he was capable of. "What do you know?"

I sighed. I didn't really have a choice now. My big mouth would just have to get me out again. "I saw you watching us the first time we met. You weren't looking at me."

"And you told them?"

"Of course not! Honestly Draco, who do you think I am?"

"I have no idea. Every time I think I've figured you out, you show another level."

I grinned. "It's what I do best," I informed him. My face took on a more solemn cast. "But really Draco. Are you sure that you're content with what you have now?"

He grimaced. "It will do," he said. "We're good friends now, at least."

I looked at him sardonically. "Oh yeah? It doesn't look like it."

He shrugged. "It isn't supposed to. It makes it so much more entertaining to keep it a secret."

"Sure."

"It wasn't my idea."

"And you're not complaining?"

"Don't have much choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice."

"Not if I want to keep his friendship."

"Which you do?"

"Which I do," he agreed.

I sighed. "Guess you're right. Want me to talk to him for you?"

"No!"

"Fine. You don't have to get touchy about it. It was just a suggestion."

"Sorry. Just… don't, all right?"

"All right."

I glanced at my watch, and swore suddenly. "God! 'Mione will have my skin for staying out so late!"

He looked at his own. "It's not even midnight yet," he objected.

I grimaced. "Un-huh. But my curfew is officially eleven thirty."

"Harsh."

"Tell me about it. Still, if I expect her to keep her mouth shut about the outfit, I'd better skidadle back. Thanks again for saving me."

"My pleasure. Stay out of gardens with boys from now on."

"And what am I doing now?"

"Leaving."

I laughed, and ran back to the Great Hall.

* * *

In the days after the ball, everyone tried their hardest to go back to normal. Zacharias Smith had been found in the gardens, horribly disfigured, and the main gossip that flew around the castle was that he'd tried to force someone. No one came forward to say that it was them who'd cursed him, but I was coming to realize that Smith had a rather nasty reputation among Hufflepuff. I felt a slight glow of pride at my handiwork every time I heard the stories, and wondered when they would end. Belle had left the day after the ball, so she couldn't say anything, and no one even thought to ask me. It was well known that I don't usually consider Hufflepuffs worth looking at, much less cursing.

Of course, there were those who had their suspicions. Blaise cornered me the day after the ball, once he'd seen Smith, and made me confess. I swore him to secrecy, and demanded that he not tell Pansy. I knew her well enough to know that if he told _her_, then the entire school would know in a matter of weeks. That _Harry_ would know. That was one of my nightmares: that Harry would find out and turn away from me. I doubted that he knew who I really was underneath, and I was afraid to show him. I didn't think that I could stand it if he turned away from me now.

Blaise heard my explanation, rolled his eyes, and said, "Don't you think that any others will put the pieces together? You have a rather distinctive style, you know."

I shrugged. "Then they won't bother saying anything," I said. "As I've made it obvious what happens to those who cross me. I know some _really_ nasty combinations of curses that even Madam Pomfrey might not be able to sort out."

"You sure about that?"

"If you put enough layers on, then no one can unravel them." I'd learned that lesson the hard way. As a child, I'd had a dog. I hadn't really cared much about it, but my father used it to punish me. He would teach me a spell and make me cast it on the dog. I, obedient child that I was, did, and one afternoon he announced a review session. I don't even remember what I'd done to make him that mad at me, but it doesn't matter. I cast spell after spell on the poor animal and eventually it lay down and wouldn't get up. Nothing we could do would make it better, and eventually the weight of spells on it killed it. After that, my father started hitting me instead. I suppose he didn't want to buy me another pet.

He raised his eyebrows. "And you could do that?"

"Yes."

He didn't answer, only looked hard at me for a long time. Finally, he said, "Give me a warning if I make you mad, all right? I'd rather live long enough to die properly, if you don't mind."

"Don't make me mad and if you die early, it won't be my fault."

"I'll remember that." He nodded briefly at me, then walked away. I watched him go, then shook my head. I don't go around killing my friends. Call me a rebel.

I should have realized, of course, that Professor Dumbledore would have noted the deed and traced it back to me. To be perfectly honest, I was half-expecting the summons that arrived two days later, and the only real surprise was that it hadn't been earlier. I excused myself to Pansy and Blaise and walked down the corridor until I reached the statue of the gargoyle. We regarded each other steadily, and I said finally, "I don't know the password, but he wants me, so you may as well let me in."

It didn't move, and I sighed with exasperation, ignoring the building embarrassment at having a conversation with a gargoyle who couldn't even answer back. "Look!" I said, holding up the note. "I'm expected!"

It was only then that I noticed the smaller writing on the back. _The password is Marble Cake._ I rolled my eyes, and said, "All right. Fine. Have it your way. Marble cake." The gargoyle shuddered and moved aside. I stepped through the resulting opening and stepped onto the moving staircase. It took a short moment to reach Dumbledore's office, and I took a deep breath as I waited. It was all very well to be expecting the summons, but it was still a little nerve-wracking. I'd never been here before – most of my lectures had happened in Professor Snape's office – and I wondered what to expect. Harry had never gotten around to describing it for me, and my fertile imagination was allowed to run free.

Finally, the staircase reached the top. I stepped off and gathered my courage before knocking on the door.

"Come in." I pushed the door open and stepped into the room, closing it behind me. I glanced around swiftly, taking in all the gadgets and bare spots on the shelf. He saw me looking, and smiled a little. "I am afraid that a student had a bit of a temper tantrum last term. I haven't gotten around to replacing all of the items yet. Do take a seat, Mr. Malfoy. Lemon drop?"

I shook my head at the proffered sweet and dropped into one of the chairs. He folded his hands over his desk and regarded me over the top of his half-moon spectacles. I refused to break eye contact, and finally he said, "Mr. Malfoy, I am sure that you heard about the incident concerning Mr. Smith at the ball."

I shrugged. "The entire school has heard by now, Professor Dumbledore. It doesn't really matter to me."

"Doesn't it?"

He knew. I knew that he knew, and he knew that I knew that he knew. It didn't matter what I said, then. "He deserved it."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you tell me the story. Mr. Smith has already offered his version."

"What did he say?"

"Why don't you tell me your story."

"What did he say?"

"I'm afraid that I'm not at liberty to reveal the nature of the interview."

"Except to the lawyers?"

"There will be no lawyers."

"Oh? So you won't use whatever I say against me?"

"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, whatever you say to me remains with me."

"You're sure?"

"I am. Now why don't you stop delaying and tell me what happened."

"I found him trying to force a muggle girl. I stopped him."

"Is that all that happened?"

"Yes."

"You have no feelings for the girl in question?"

"She's a casual friend. We met this summer."

"What was her name?"

"Her name _is_ Belladonna."

He sighed, and looked hard at me. "Mr. Malfoy, please be honest with me. Is that the only reason that you attacked Mr. Smith?"

"What are you implying, Professor?"

"I had heard rumors that you were attempting to… hide the evidence."

I snorted. I'd heard those as well. "What exactly do you mean, hide the evidence?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

I shrugged. "Since it's not true, then there's nothing to say. I cursed him because he was annoying a friend of mine and I don't like him."

He regarded me sadly. "Is that a reason to exercise such force?"

"I wasn't being overly forceful."

"Mr. Malfoy, as I am sure you are aware, it took Poppy several hours to unwind all the spells that you placed on Mr. Smith. He will never look the same, you know."

I told him what I'd told Blaise. He seemed to consider this for a long moment. "So you believe that you exercised restraint?"

I nodded. "I could have killed him," I said bluntly. "I could also have sent him to St. Mungo's. I could have put him in a coma for the rest of his life. Compared to that, a few hours in the hospital wing and a limp are nothing."

He studied me thoughtfully. I tried to hold his gaze, but the power in those blue eyes was too much in the end, and I dropped my own down to my lap. "Mr. Malfoy, do you have any idea how rare it is for a person to feel no guilt at all for an action like this?"

I sighed. I have heard this many times before, and the answer is always the same. "I'm not like most people."

"No. You are not. You have gone through evil and it has not left you untainted."

I found the strength in anger to meet his eyes again. "Should it have?" I asked bitterly. "Do you expect me to be a Ginny Weasley and come out of evil unscarred?"

"Not even Miss Weasley is unscarred," he told me gently. "I suppose that your father explained it to you?"

I didn't answer, and after a moment, he continued. "It is impossible to come out of something like that unmarked. But it is possible to get rid of those marks."

"And what if I don't want to?" It came out more a challenge than a question.

"Then you may be poisoning you soul unnecessarily."

I stared at him, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. Was he utterly _mad_? Anger, hatred, and power were the only reasons that I was still alive. He wanted me to get rid of those? Didn't he realize that, without anger and hatred I wouldn't last much longer in my house? "You are an optimist," I told him bluntly. "There's no way I can let go, and I don't want to."

"Why not?"

I didn't answer, and he asked quietly. "Is it because you would feel powerless without the strength of your hatred?"

I looked at him for a long moment, then stood up angrily. "Professor, if you are going to punish me, then please get on with it. I didn't come here to be cross-examined and asked to confess my soul."

"A detention with Poppy, I think," he said thoughtfully. "For as long as she wishes, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps it's best that you see the effects of your actions up close."

I nodded, and strode out of the office.

* * *

Poppy knocked a little shakily on Albus' door. Without waiting for an answer, she walked in. She sat down heavily and looked at the three assembled in front of her. "That boy is not human," she said without preamble.

Albus looked at her curiously. "Please explain yourself, Poppy."

She took a deep breath, trying to compose her thoughts. Severus watched her carefully, noting that she'd been breathing hard from more than just the climb to the office. He noted too that Minerva was looking as carefully as he himself was. She watched Poppy for a moment longer, then said quietly, "Is this about young Mr. Malfoy?"

She nodded briefly.

"What happened?"

She shrugged helplessly. "It wasn't that he was rude. On the contrary, he was quite manageable, far more than I had expected, if a little reserved. It was just that nothing I did had any effect on him. The horror stories, the patients themselves… he took it all and absorbed it."

"Did it occur to you that he might be hiding his true emotions? Draco is very proud." Severus' sharp voice cut across the conversation, drawing attention to his shadowed figure.

Poppy nodded. "I thought of that, and it's possible, but I don't really think so. I've known a good many proud students. They all crack sooner or later. It might be subtle, but I've learned to recognize the signs. He showed _nothing_." She stopped, and suddenly laughed bitterly. "The irony is that he would make a remarkable Healer. Knowing how to close yourself off from your emotions is a vital skill. I've never seen any trained Healer better able to do it than that child."

Severus didn't say anything, but he remembered the nights watching Draco cry himself to sleep. Draco certainly had emotions, and the fact that he chose not to show them had nothing to do with his circumstances and everything to do with his upbringing. Draco, of course, knew nothing of Severus' promise to Narcissa, and Severus had no intention of telling him. He would undoubtedly blow up at the news, and Severus had been properly impressed by the boy's abilities.

Albus seemed to catch his thoughts, or at least his mood, because he said quietly, "Mr. Malfoy has spent his life learning to hide his emotions, Poppy. Are you sure that he felt nothing?"

She shook her head helplessly. "I don't know, Albus. I'd like to think that he's just learned to hide them well, but… I don't know."

"Are you sure that he _was_ hiding them, Albus?" Minerva asked suddenly. "Maybe Poppy's right, and the boy simply doesn't care."

Severus prayed that Albus would just ignore him and answer the question himself. If it hadn't been for the fact that Draco was in Severus' House, then the Potions teacher wouldn't have been at this meeting to save his life. He had no desire to talk about Draco to Albus, and he _certainly_ didn't want to discuss him with Minerva.

Albus shrugged. "I don't know, Minerva." He turned to Severus, and Severus knew with a deep sinking feeling that his prayers hadn't been answered. "Severus? The boy is in your House."

Severus sighed. "I don't know either, Headmaster," he said shortly. "Just because Draco is in my House does not mean that he views me as his personal confessor."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Severus, we know perfectly well what kind of relationship you have with your students." Her tone made it clear that she disapproved of Severus' methods. Severus knew perfectly well what she thought of his methods, and he didn't care.

"Then you know that I encourage them to talk amongst themselves," he shot back.

"Severus, Minerva," Albus cut in wearily. "This is not the time to be bickering. We are here to discuss Mr. Malfoy, not your individual teaching styles. Please remember that."

Severus nodded stiffly. After a moment, Minerva did the same.

"Now, Severus. Please tell us what you know about Mr. Malfoy's upbringing. It may help unravel some of the mysteries here."

Severus shrugged. "There isn't much to tell, Headmaster. He was brought up by Lucius Malfoy, and that alone should be enough to make one able to hide one's emotions and thoughts far better than the general public. Add to that a Mother who's a fool, plus a nasty family reputation, and you have a recipe which turned out the boy that we know."

"So you're saying that it's not the boy's fault?" Minerva demanded, frowning.

"I'm saying that it's not entirely Draco's fault," Severus corrected. "Though he didn't go to any lengths to escape his training when he left that place."

"He is proud of his ability to hate," Albus commented mildly. "Poppy, I don't remember if I told you, but we spoke before I sent him down to you. It was… educational, to say the least. I hadn't realized just how deeply his upbringing had scarred him."

Severus snorted rather loudly. They all turned to look at him. "What did you expect, Headmaster? Did you think that he would just waltz in here and be magically cured? As I recall, it was you, in fact, who made that impossible. When you decided to try to convince Narcissa to take him out of this school, he was listening to every word. I must say, it was that more than anything that made him proud of his ability to hate."

Minerva's eyes widened in shock, and Poppy stared from Severus to Albus. Severus caught the old man's gaze and held it, refusing to yield. Finally, Albus looked away. "It was foolish of me, I know," he said quietly. "I thought, in the heat of the moment, that it was the best thing to do. We've already discussed this, if you recall, Severus."

"I remember quite well," Severus said stiffly.

"That is not what we're here to discuss," Minerva reminded them sharply. "We're here to talk about the present and near future."

"Does he have any true friends?" Poppy asked suddenly. "I can't say that I know the boy very well, but he seems fairly lonely."

Once again, they all turned to Severus. "Draco has friends," he said shortly.

Minerva nodded. "He and Mr. Potter have, surprisingly, become quite… close."

Poppy's eyebrows skyrocketed. "He and Mr. _Potter_?" she asked. "Surely that's not possible!"

"I saw them, Poppy," Minerva countered. "They're not at all obvious about it, but I put them in detention together at the beginning of the year. It's far more noticeable then."

"And you spy on them?" Poppy demanded.

Minerva shrugged, looking very slightly embarrassed. "Not often. But there are times when I am… worried."

Severus nodded mentally. In Minerva's shoes, he would have done exactly the same thing, though he wouldn't have admitted to it. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he wasn't in Minerva's shoes. If he had been, he never would have put them in detention together in the first place.

"And do you think that this friendship has done any good?" Albus asked curiously.

"No," Severus cut in definitively. "No, Albus, I do not approve at all."

"Are you speaking through your own prejudices?" Minerva snapped.

"No I am not!" Severus countered. "While I may personally have some… problems with Mr. Potter, this is strictly to do with the two boys."

"Why do you believe that this friendship is a bad thing?" Albus asked, looking steadily at Severus.

"Potter will undoubtedly get bored with his new playmate," Severus said, knowing full well that he was being unfair and not caring. "When that happens, the effects on Draco will be far worse than if Potter had simply continued to ignore him."

"Explain yourself, Severus," Minerva said dangerously. "What makes you believe that Mr. Potter will tire of Mr. Malfoy? The impression I received would be that the danger would be to Mr. Potter instead."

Severus rolled his eyes subtly. "Minerva, Potter has a history of throwing potentially fruitful friendships away. What about the infamous Miss Chang last year?"

"They weren't ready, either of them, and she was foolish enough to bring up sensitive topics before it was time," Minerva told him frankly.

"If he can't bear to hear what she has to say, Minerva, then how do you expect him to sit through what Draco has to confess?"

"He already has."

Severus frowned. "Elaborate."

Minerva recounted the little scene she had witnessed in October. Severus ground his teeth together. He itched to go and knock some sense into Draco's lovesick head. What had he been _thinking_? Why would he open himself up, make himself so vulnerable to a boy who hated him? Because Potter did hate Draco, Severus was sure of it. Even if the fool believed that he didn't, it would eventually come back to hit him in the face, and he would turn away from Draco without blinking. The effects on Draco could be catastrophic, and Severus didn't even care to imagine them. Why in the name of anything holy had Minerva put them in that detention together? Didn't she realize that it was better for everyone if Draco and Potter hated each other?

Poppy was looking thoughtful. "Maybe I was too hasty in judging him," she said slowly. "It seems that he has some emotion after all."

Severus' temper snapped. "Of _course_ he has feelings," he snarled. "Honestly, if you would all just pay attention to anything other than what directly concerns your little worlds, then you would realize it. Would you like the straight facts? Well here they are: Draco is in love with Potter. I'm sorry if that offends any of your sensibilities, but it's true. He has been since the boys were eleven, and Potter did the most intelligent thing he's ever done and refused Draco's friendship. It broke Draco's heart and kept Potter out of harm. It would have stayed that way forever but for your cursed _meddling_, Minerva. Now, you've endangered both of them, and you are in the process of breaking Draco's heart yet again. What do you think will happen what Potter turns away? I don't know about you, but I personally am not looking forward to the reaction. Headmaster." Severus nodded curtly to Albus, and strode out of the office, breathing a little heavily. He knew that he'd left a shocked silence behind him, and he didn't care. It had needed saying, and he felt a considerable burden lift from his shoulders and he stalked down the stairs and out into the hall. He was still in a murderous mood, though, and God protect any student who was unlucky enough to fall across his path for the next several hours if not days.

* * *

Harry was far less oblivious to the facts that Draco believed. He had no concrete evidence, other than the fact that the girl that Zacharias had tried to attack was Belle, but that was more than enough, when combined with how Zacharias had looked when he was found. Harry knew that, if he'd had time, he would have been able to identify every single spell that the attacker had put on the unfortunate Zacharias. And he had his suspicions as to who the attacker had been. He'd studied Draco's style far more in depthly than the other boy realized, and he could see the blond Slytherin's signature spells. Everyone had a signature spell, Harry was learning, one that they favored above all others. Ginny had her bat-bogey hex, and Ron was very fond of Stupefy. Harry himself knew quite well that his trademark was the disarming charm, and he did nothing to stop the word from spreading. He had a vague notion of his enemies expecting him to disarm them, and so not be ready for, say, a stunning spell. But that wasn't the point. The point was that Harry knew Draco's style, and the layered curses basically screamed Draco's name.

Not that he would ever tell Draco what he suspected. If his suspicions were wrong, and Harry supposed that they might well be, then Draco would be furious at the accusation, and if they weren't, Draco might try something on Harry to keep him silent. Harry had been highly impressed by the precision that the attacker (he would give Draco the benefit of the doubt, after all) had shown with the attack on Zacharias, and he had no wish to show up at Madam Pomfrey's in a similar condition. Not to mention the fact that he thought Dumbledore might have a stroke. There were times when blatant favoritism wasn't necessarily the best thing in the world.

He didn't tell anyone what he suspected, though, and gradually, as Zacharias recovered and no one else was attacked, people forgot about it and moved on with their lives. Draco didn't act any differently, and even Harry began to have his doubts after a while. But soon, there came an event that was the undeniable proof that he'd been unconsciously avoiding.

He was walking back from the Astronomy tower, unconsciously replotting his star charts in his head, when he suddenly stopped cold. It was Draco's voice that he heard, but Draco's voice in a way he hadn't heard all year. It was cold and hard, the voice, not of Draco, but of Malfoy. Harry listened despite himself, wondering just what was going on.

"You are going to regret that," Draco was saying. "I'm not very nice to people who lie about me or my family."

Obviously, whoever he was talking to answered, but Harry couldn't hear the voice. He edged closer, straining his ears to make it all out.

"No, I am not going to leave you alone," Draco snapped. "You insulted me, and I will not stand for that."

Harry still couldn't hear the reply, but he was afraid to get any closer. Draco would notice him if he moved in more, and he desperately wanted to know how this scene played out. He wasn't sure why he had to know, but something in him, something that formed part of the very core of his being, told him that he had to know what was about to happen. He didn't move.

"I am giving you one last chance," Draco snarled. "Apologize to me now, and pay a price. Otherwise, I will kill you." The words were said coldly, with no hint of emotion. Harry believed that Draco would do it, and so apparently did the person that Draco was talking to.

"Excellent," Draco said. "Now, this will almost certainly hurt."

There was presumably some sort of protest from the accused party.

"I told you there would be a price to pay," Draco told him lazily. "The more you snivel about it, the more it will hurt."

There was a pause, and then Harry heard Draco begin to dole out the punishment. Harry finally heard the other boy, his cries and piteous moans loud enough at last. Draco didn't stop until five minutes of moans and gasps had passed. Then, he sheathed his wand and turned away. As he walked out of the corner, his eyes met Harry's. The storm-cloud gray orbs held both an apology and a challenge, and he held Harry's gaze for a long moment. Then, he turned and strode away, his shoes clicking softly on the ground as he walked, mapping his passage out of the corridor and out of sight.

* * *

Ron was determined to find out who Hermione was writing to. If it really was that idiot Krum, he swore that he would throw all of the letters into the fire and pull all of his hair out in frustration. Didn't she realize that she was better than that? Why did she have to pin herself on some athletic jerk? Krum wasn't that good looking, anyway! She'd actually _said_ that she was writing to him, for Merlin's sake. But, then again, if she _wasn't_ writing to him, wouldn't she just say that she was to make him mad? It frustrated Ron to know that she cared so little for him. Sure, she was his friend and all, but didn't she realize that he might want to be more? Of course, there were days when Ron himself didn't know what he wanted, so he supposed that he should go easier on her. But still, _Krum_?!

The letters came faithfully every week. She would never open them in front of him or Harry, but would tuck them away, presumably to read them in private. Ron knew that she answered them all, because she always came out of her dormitory looking pleasantly drained, and nothing made Hermione look like that but a very long scroll of parchment freshly completed. Sometimes, Ron could swear that Hermione even liked writing essays. Of course, he'd always known that she was mental that way.

Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer. He intercepted her on her way to the dormitory, and said, "All right, Hermione. Just tell me who you're writing to!"

She looked at him in irritation. "It's none of your business who I write to, Ron. Let me through."

He shook his head. "Tell me!"

She glared, and he could see her shifting into fighting mode. Hermione had more than her fair share of stubbornness, and she was awakening all of it. "It is none of your business, Ronald. Let me through, or I will hex you. I promise."

"I have a wand too," he reminded her. "And I was in the DA last year, same as you were. I know all the hexes you do."

"But can you do them as fast as I can?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"No, but if you don't move this _instant_, I will, whether I want to or not!"

Instead of answering her, Ron reached over and gripped the scroll. She gave a little shriek, which made him want to know even more. Who was so important? Who was it that she was so desperate he not know about? His curiosity was piqued, as well as his temper, and he pulled harder. She moved to set down her books to get a firmer grip on the scroll, and in the instant that her attention shifted, Ron pulled it out with an exclamation of triumph.

"Give that back!" she shouted, oblivious to the stares that they were attracting. Harry, who'd slipped in after them, dropped into a chair and watched the scene impassively. Hermione's tone had taken on a desperate note, and Ron almost wanted to relent. But he'd come so far, and his fierce Weasley pride forced him to continue. He slipped the ribbon off the scroll, and began to unroll it. He noted the precise handwriting, and the regularity of the letters. Whoever had written this had had a good education as a child, and they had taken pains to keep up with it. His own writing, though he'd been taught as a child, had taken on the almost illegible scrawl of most boys his age. The style of this writing made him think that it was a girl who'd written it, but something in the lettering and angularity of the letters told him that it was a boy.

And then, he reached the signature, and his heart froze. Surely not even Hermione could do this! Surely it was just a joke! He scanned the letter desperately, trying to find a clue as to the letter's true author. But there was nothing to tell him that it was not who it said it was. Everything from the use of her last name to the dry sarcasm and pointed insults spoke of the name at the bottom. The person that Ron hated almost more than anyone else. He looked up, his hands shaking with rage. "You're writing to _Malfoy_?!" he shouted.

She refused to meet his eyes. "What about it?" she asked, but her voice was shaking very slightly.

"_What about it?!_" he spluttered. "You're giving secrets to the enemy!"

"The enemy?" she retorted, and she was angry enough for the tremble to have left her voice. That made him feel better, and gave him courage. Anger, he could deal with. Anger didn't make him feel like an insensitive jerk.

"Yeah, the enemy!" he shouted back. "Who do you think he is? Who do you think his _parents_ are? You-Know-Who's most loyal supporters, that's who!"

"That doesn't mean anything!" her own voice had risen, and she was shouting at the same volume as he was. "He's not a Death Eater!"

"Oh yeah?! Then how do you explain the fact that he won't ever roll up his sleeves? Do you just think that that Dark Mark that he's trying to hide is a stylish tattoo?"

"He doesn't have a Dark Mark! And it's none of your business, Ronald Billius Weasley! Just because you're a prejudiced bigot doesn't mean that I have to be! I'm allowed to have other friends! You aren't the only person in the world, you know!"

Ron had no idea how to retort; he just knew that he had to do something. Very deliberately, he began to rip the letter. It was long, and there was absolute silence as he yanked it into pieces. When it had finally been reduced to scraps, he threw them onto the floor. "If you're going to be _his_ friend," he told Hermione coldly, looking directly at her. "Then you can't be mine. Make a choice." He stalked past her and through the crowds of silent Gryffindors, running up the stairs and throwing himself onto his four-poster bed. He pulled the curtains around the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. How could she do this to him? This was the worst kind of betrayal. He knew that they would never go back to what they had been after this. It was too personal, too irreversible. He refused to admit that he was terrified of hearing her choice.

'I don't care!' he told himself fiercely. 'I can find someone better! Someone who's not muggle born!' The last thought shocked him to the core, and he sat up, numb at what he'd just thought. He didn't care about Hermione's parents! He _didn't! _He wasn't some kind of prejudiced git like she'd said! It was just an emotional reaction! He'd just been thinking like Malfoy, that was all. But the thought had been voiced, and now he could never take it back. It didn't matter that she would never know. _He_ would know, and whenever he looked at her, he would remember just how much of a bigot he really was.

Overcome with self-hatred and anger, Ronald Weasley allowed silent tears to carry him away into slumber.

* * *

Hermione ran up to her own dormitory once Ron had left, and sat down on her bed. She hadn't even picked up the pieces of the letter. It would forever remain unread, and she fought the urge to throw the rest of the letters that she'd received onto the fire. She had every right to have other friends! Ron didn't rule her world! But the urge was still there, and she was finding it very hard to resist.

To her immense gratitude, Parvati and Lavender hadn't been in the common room earlier. Of course, everyone else in Gryffindor House had been, so the two girls would know the moment they came back into the common room, but it made her feel marginally better to know that they wouldn't have witnessed it firsthand. Pity from Lavender Brown was more than she could handle at this point. She flipped open her diary, looking at the pages of neat, precise handwriting. She'd chosen this diary in a muggle shop, making absolutely sure that it had no magic in it at all. She didn't like opening up to people, and the only way she could bear to release her emotions was in a place where she knew that no one, not even a magical presence, would be reading her entries. She hadn't even named the diary like so many girls did. That would give it a personality, and at Hogwarts, there was no telling what kind of magic would bring the diary to life.

_I hate Ron! He's a prejudiced bastard! I mean, who says that I can't write to anyone that I want to? Not _him_! He's just a bigot who doesn't know the first thing about true friendship. He only likes me because I do his homework for him. Well, he can forget that! I'm not writing any more essays for him, and his charms practice can be as horrible as Neville's for all the attention I'll give it. _

_And what about Harry? He could have defended me! He's Malfoy's friend, or he says he is. But he'll let Ron insult Malfoy in the worst way imaginable, and not even say anything! I feel sorry for Malfoy now. It's obvious that Malfoy loves Harry. I wish that he could find someone better. I respect Malfoy, something I thought I'd never say, and he deserves someone who's willing to break the rules to be with him. I know that Harry _says_ that they're best friends, but what kind of friend lets his friend be called a Death Eater? Because Malfoy's not! It's obvious that he's not. Or at least, obvious to anyone who even tries to get to know him._

_But who does? Who gets to know a Malfoy? No one, that's who. You could just see it at the beginning of the year. He was lonely. Crabbe and Goyle didn't pass any OWLs, so they're not allowed back. They weren't even his friends. They were basically his servants. The whole evil bully act was a self-defense mechanism that none of us were smart enough to see through._

_But what am I doing? Why am I making excuses for him? Because he hates Ron. I want to hate Ron, but I don't. It would be so much easier if I could hate Ron. Then, I could keep writing to Malfoy and not care what he thought. But I can't. I have to tell Malfoy that we have to stop corresponding. I still care about Ron, and Ron was first. He's a git, but he was first. And I care about Harry too. Harry doesn't like the two of us fighting, and I know we make an effort for his sake. Or at least, I do. Harry has enough on his mind without us fighting all the time._

_I wish I knew what to do. I mean, I want to keep writing, but I don't want to lose Ron's friendship permanently. Because that's what he said. "If you're going to be _his_ friend, you can't be mine." Those were his exact words. He meant it, too. I could see that he meant it, even if he says that he didn't. He's too much of a Gryffindor to accept that I could be friends with a Slytherin. Is that why Harry didn't say anything? Does he value Ron's friendship over Malfoy's? I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Ron's been through so much with Harry, after all. Both of us have. He's said that we're his biggest supporters. That sounds really conceited on my part, but it's the truth. Malfoy's new. None of us will accept him wholeheartedly, not even me. There's too much bad blood between us to do that._

She reread her entry, noting how her handwriting had calmed down. She had found that it was an incredible release of tension to write big, angry letters full of words that she didn't use in everyday conversation. Her writing and language had calmed down as she went, ending with almost normal letters. She wondered how people could keep electronic journals. To Hermione, the physical release of writing was just as important as what was said. She couldn't even contemplate writing the things that she did on a computer.

The door to the dormitory opened, and Parvati burst in. She took one look at Hermione's face, and dropped her books onto her bed. She moved across the room, magically locking the door as she did so, and sat down on Hermione's bed. "I heard what happened," she said without preamble.

"And do you think that I'm a traitor to the house as well?" Hermione asked bitterly. Apparently her journal scribbles hadn't bled out all the poison after all.

Parvati shook her head firmly. "No. I think that Ron's an idiot. You have as much right to friends as he does."

Hermione looked carefully at Parvati. "You know, don't you?" she asked.

Parvati nodded, and Hermione reflected that she didn't even have to ask what Hermione was talking about. Parvati always knew. "I've always known," Parvati said simply, echoing Hermione's thoughts exactly.

"And?"

"And?"

"Are you going to do anything? You're the supreme matchmaker of the House, after all."

Parvati looked at Hermione pityingly. "Hermione, I am the supreme matchmaker of the _school_. But that doesn't mean that I can do everyone. Some people have to work it out on their own."

"Does Lavender know?"

Parvati shrugged. "If she pays attention she does. I've never told her."

"Why not?"

"It's not my secret to tell." There was a knocking on the door, and Parvati rose gracefully. "That would be Lavender," she added, unlocking the door with a lazy swish of her wand. Hermione watched her move off, reflecting that there was much more to Parvati Patil than anyone realized. It didn't occur to her that Parvati had struggled hard to make sure of that.


	17. 7: truths

**Author's note: We're sorry for not posting this yesterday. We were at a debate tournament (which is why I'm doing the A/N: debate is mostly my thing) and we didn't get back until about 9, at which point all we were able to do was fall into bed and sleep for, uh, I believe it was about 13 hours. Until 11 o'clock in the morning, at least. (If my math is wrong, I'm sorry. I'm not a math person.) Anyway, all that to say that we're sorry. In exchange for being a day late, we're giving you the chapter all of you have been waiting for. Thank you for your patience with us: we know you've been anxious for this from chapter 1. (Or maybe even the prologue. -grins-) So, without further ado, please enjoy.  
Disclaimer: We own nothing except for an irrational desire to break into song at odd moments...  
--Caroline

* * *

**

7: truths

Pansy Parkinson was the last person that Harry expected to seek him out. Over that year, she hadn't made it any secret that she hated him, nor had he made any effort to hide his dislike of her. And so, it was a surprise when she came to stand by his table at the library. He looked up as the shadow fell over him, and his green eyes found her blue ones. "What do you want, Parkinson?" he demanded, standing up.

"I've got something to say to you, Potter. Come with me."

Harry shook his head. "Whatever it is, Parkinson, you can say it right here."

She scowled. "You will come, Potter, or I'll drag you by your hair."

Harry put his hand on his wand. She snorted. "Much as I'd love to, Potter, I'm not going to curse you. I just need to talk with you. Now."

Harry had to admit that he was curious. He glanced at Ron and Hermione. Ron scowled and shook his head fiercely, but Hermione shrugged. Harry considered his options. He doubted that Pansy would make a scene if he didn't go with her, she wasn't nearly brave enough for that, but she would have her revenge. He knew that she was one of Draco's friends, and he wondered if she had some sort of message from him. In the end, it was that hope that decided him. He gave Ron an apologetic look, then nodded shortly to Pansy. She walked away briskly, and he made his way in the same direction, making sure not to appear to be following her. Finally, she disappeared behind a shelf at the back of the library. Checking to make sure no one was looking, he slipped behind the same shelf, his hand on his wand just as a precaution. As he saw her, she spoke a word and made a gesture with her wand, and he felt the unmistakable signs of a warding spell. His grip on his wand tightened.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" he asked again.

She pulled out a scroll. "This is from Draco to you, Potter."

He reached out to grab it, but she held it out of reach. "Give it to me, Parkinson," he said through gritted teeth.

She shook her head. "Listen to me for a minute, then you'll have it. I would swear, but you wouldn't trust my word, no matter what I swore by." Harry had to admit that that was true. He sighed, wondering what the hell was going on. She seemed, almost… nervous? Why would she be nervous? "Before I give this to you, Potter," she said quietly, "You're going to promise me that even after you read this, you won't walk away from him. He deserves to be treated like a real person no matter what, and if you walk away from him now, you'll break his heart."

Harry had a sinking suspicion that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He didn't want to believe it until she actually said it, though, and she'd closed her mouth. "What the hell are you talking about, Parkinson?" he growled.

She looked at him in irritation. "You don't see it yet, Potter?" she demanded. "Do you need me to spell it out word for word? Draco's in love with you. He has been since you were eleven, when you refused to shake his hand. Why the hell did you do that, Potter? Why wouldn't you just be nice to him?"

"His first words were insults to Ron, Parkinson."

"And you value Weasley over Draco?"

"No. I value both of them the same. Both of them are my friends. I don't let people insult my friends."

"Yet you let Granger and Weasley insult Draco to their heart's content, don't you?"

"The two of us already discussed this. It's in both of our best interests not to be seen as friends."

She sneered, letting him know just how lousy she thought his excuse was.

"Are you going to give me the letter or not?" Harry demanded.

"Promise that you'll still be his friend."

He sighed. "Just give it to me."

"Promise."

"All right! I promise! Just give the damn thing to me!"

She handed him the letter reluctantly, then unlocked the warding spell. He strode out from behind the shelf, completely ignoring the questioning looks that Ron and Hermione gave him. He left the library and started for Gryffindor tower. Then he stopped. They would expect him there, and soon they would come after him. He was absolutely certain that he didn't want them intruding. He changed direction and walked up the stairs to the third floor, heading for the Room of Requirement. He reached the tapestry and walked past it three times, concentrating on a place where he could read Draco's letter in privacy. The third time, he opened his eyes, and pulled open the door that had appeared. He entered a small room with a fireplace and a comfortable looking black leather chair. He had to smile a little cynically at the color: apparently the Room of Requirement didn't believe in distinguishing by House. He lowered himself into the chair, making sure that the door was carefully shut behind him. He stared into the fire for a long moment, working up the courage to unroll the letter. The he shook his head slightly and slipped the green ribbon off. He unrolled the parchment and slowly read the words.

_Dear Harry,_

_Pansy says that I should write this to you, and she's probably right. Before, when you hated me, it didn't matter. Now that you're actually my friend, Pansy's convinced me that I have to tell you. Please don't hate me for what I'm about to tell you. I don't think I could bear you hating me again. You've helped me so much this year. You've been my friend and my teacher. You've listened to me when I needed to talk and distracted me when I needed distracting. You've helped me with my homework, and you've laughed at my jokes. I've never had a friend like you before, and that's all that I want from you: to be your friend. The other thing doesn't matter much. I know you're happy with the Weasley girl, and please believe me when I say that I don't mind. _

_Well, I suppose you're wondering what the hell I'm going on about, though maybe Pansy broke her promise and told you. I don't think I'd mind if she did. So here it is. Here's my big confession. Harry, ever since I met you, the moment I first saw your green eyes and your black hair, I knew that you were the one I wanted. It was just a teenage crush at first, but it never left. Now, I know that you're the only one that I'll ever want. But it honestly doesn't matter to me whether you return my feelings or not. Honestly, Harry, I just want to be your friend. I don't know how you feel about… people like me, but I promise you that I'll never try to seduce you. I'll just be your friend and try to help you as much as you've helped me._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_P.S. I'd appreciate it if you'd burn this letter once you're done reading it. Thanks._

Harry read the letter again, and then did as Draco had asked and threw it into the fire. He sat in the black armchair for a long time, thinking. He thought about Ginny. She said that she loved him, and he thought that he loved her, but did he? Lately, it had all become more like habit, and he found less pleasure in it. He thought that she might feel the same way, and he knew that Ron and Hermione suspected that something was up. They hadn't said anything yet, but he caught both of them watching him and Ginny when they were together.

And what about Draco? Harry couldn't deny the sudden flushes of heat that he'd experienced sometimes in Draco's presence. They'd been getting more and more frequent, and he finally admitted what they might be. But was he willing to give up a possible future with Ginny, who was Ron's little sister and a good friend, for Draco, who was inaccessible most of the time? He didn't know, and that scared him. He was far too much of a Gryffindor to have them both, and he knew that he had to choose one. But which? He pictured Ginny first. Her long red hair, which swung so enticingly to her waist. Her piercing brown eyes that seemed to see into his soul. Her sharp wit, which always found something to say to his remarks. But she was prickly and temperamental. He didn't know if anything could last with her apart from respect and possibly friendship. Already the physical attraction was starting to dim, and there wasn't much left. She was too much like him, Harry realized. She was proud and jealous of his friendship with Hermione. She'd never say so, but he knew that she resented Hermione for having been there first.

And then there was Draco. In his mind's eye, Harry saw controlled blond hair and sharp gray eyes. He saw laughter and tears. Ginny had never broken down in front of him, had never allowed him to comfort her like Draco had. Harry remembered conversations about everything, rambling from one topic to another without thought for whether the other would follow, because he invariably would. But Harry would have to be blind to ignore Draco's faults. The blond teenager was proud and convinced that he was better than many of Harry's friends. He was a bit of a sore loser, and he too was very much like Harry. But. But Harry could envision staying with Draco. He had a hard time doing the same with Ginny. He could picture them in the near future, but he couldn't see any farther. He couldn't see himself and Ginny having children and growing old together. He could see himself staying with Draco. But was he willing to take the consequences? Could he stand the criticism and the abuse that he would get if he admitted it to the world? He'd been abused before, but this would be different. He didn't know if he could stand it. He wasn't sure that he wouldn't take it out on Draco when he cracked, and he swore to himself that he would never do that. Draco deserved better than that, and Harry refused to let Draco become his emotional punching bag.

He couldn't make a decision. He finally drifted into a restless sleep. He was facing Draco and Ginny, and both of them were looking at him steadily. "Please, Harry," Ginny said.

Draco looked at her with loathing. Then he looked at Harry, and his eyes softened. "Harry."

Harry looked between the two of them. And then Draco vanished, leaving Ginny. They looked at each other. "What are you doing, Harry?" she asked sadly. "You're making a bad decision."

"I don't know what I'm doing, Ginny" he admitted. "Help me."

"Think about your future, Harry," she said softly. "What do you have with him? We could try together. We could try to stay and raise children. We could have a real future together, Harry. What would you have with him? You would have secrecy and ridicule. Do you want that? You could get a high place in the ministry if you wanted, Harry. But could he? If you did get together, could he find a place there? Or would you be stuck with a lower job because he won't be let into the Ministry?"

Harry was about to answer her, but she dissolved, and Draco appeared in her place. He didn't say anything, but Harry could feel those gray eyes looking straight into his own eyes. Very quietly, he asked, "What do I do, Draco? Help me."

Draco shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Harry. Do what you need to do. I'll understand. Just, please, don't forget about me. Please don't ignore me like you did before." He lowered his eyes, but Harry had seen the tears in them. Ginny had never ever allowed him to see her cry. Without thinking, he took Draco in his arms again, holding him as the other boy silently wept.

Harry woke around midnight, knowing what his answer was.

* * *

I have to admit that I didn't sleep much that night. I was worried about Harry's reaction to the letter, and about what Pansy had told him. She hadn't wanted to meet my eyes when she came back from giving it to Harry, and I knew she'd broken her promise. I didn't mind as much as I'd feared, but I wouldn't talk to her, either. I couldn't stay still, and paced up and down my room more times than I could count. I tried not to think about Harry, but, of course, my thoughts rested on him. I remembered all the times we'd had that year, stocking up the memories in case he hated me. I told myself that, at least I'd have the memories, but I knew that it wouldn't be enough. I was terrified of seeing him again, but I also couldn't wait. I had to know. Even being heartbroken would be better than this state of not knowing anything.

Morning found me in my chair by the fire, staring blankly at the flames. I got up stiffly, and dressed. Then I washed my face until much of my sleepless night had been erased, or at least diminished. When I was finally presentable, I unlocked my door and pushed it open. Pansy was waiting for me, as usual, and she grabbed my hand and squeezed it once. I took a deep breath and raised my head bravely. She grinned at me, and I grinned back, a little shakily. We walked to the Great Hall together, and I took my place without a word. I didn't dare look across the Hall to where Harry was sitting. After breakfast I hurried out to Herbology, relieved that we didn't have it with the Gryffindors. I concentrated on defuzzing all the overly fuzzy plants that we'd been given. I didn't remember what they were called, but apparently the fuzz was a useful antidote to mind-altering diseases and curses. Professor Sprout said that Madam Pomfrey wanted as much as we could collect, so we weren't to waste any. I rolled my fuzz into a ball, trying to get it as large and round as possible. The monotony of the chore took my mind away from what was bothering it so badly, if only for a little while.

I used the same technique in the rest of my classes. In Charms, I concentrated on charming my copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ to look like a marble, and I tried to get it the deepest and purest silver I could manage. I got extra points from Flitwick for the precision. I know he was surprised: I don't usually try so hard in class. And so on, until, finally, Transfiguration came to an end. Harry and I waited until everyone had gone, then we stood, looking at each other awkwardly. "I… um… I got your letter," he said finally.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.

He looked just as uncomfortable as I felt, and I hoped with all I was worth that he wasn't telling me that our friendship was over. We stood in silence for a good ten minutes, then he suddenly seemed to make up his mind. He closed the distance between us and cautiously put his hand on my arm. I finally met his eyes, and what I saw took my breath away. Was it really? Was I dreaming? Did I see what I so desperately wanted to see? I was afraid to hope, afraid even to breath, terrified that this would go away. Ever so slowly, his hand moved up until it touched my shoulder, then my face. I stood perfectly still, letting him stroke me as though I were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. I lifted my own hand, noting that it was trembling, and touched his own face. It was soft, yet the skin was firm and stretched tight over powerful bones. I brought my hand down, tracing the line of his cheekbones, and descending to caress his cheeks and follow his jaw line. He was doing the same thing to me, and our movements unconsciously became synchronized. I moved over his jaw and up the other cheek, brushing his temple as I went, and I felt him doing the same thing to me. And then, the hands left the faces and we were hugging each other tightly. Both of our robes were wet, but I didn't know if they were my tears, or his, or both of ours. And then I realized that he was trembling. I hugged him closer, whispering, "Harry? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, only clung to me as though I were the only thing that anchored him to reality. I started to rock slightly, moving my hand over his neck and the back of his head. Finally, he looked up at me, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You're so beautiful. I never realized before. Forgive me?"

"Always," I told him firmly. "I'll always forgive you, Harry."

He didn't answer, only started stroking my own hair. I shivered in delight as he ran his fingers through the silk-thin strands, momentarily stopping my own exploration of his black mop of thick hair, the kind I'd always wished I had. Slowly, he let go of me, and the love I saw reflected in his eyes warmed me to the core. I hoped he could see the same in my own. He moved to a seat, and I followed, not letting go of his hand. We sat, and looked at each other. "Harry," I said finally, unwilling to ruin the mood, but needing to ask. "What about her?"

"Ginny?" I nodded. He shook his head. "Ginny broke up with me this morning. She said that it wasn't working anymore. She still wants to be friends, but that's all."

"Is that what you want?" I asked hesitantly.

"I want to spend my life with you, Draco," he told me gently. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I just want to be with you."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust what I saw in his eyes, but could I? Could I bear the heartbreak if he left? Was I strong enough to live without him? I didn't know, and that scared me. I hate not knowing, and this was the worst kind. "Don't leave," I whispered.

"Never," he promised. "Never!" He seemed afraid to touch me again, afraid that I wouldn't let him. Was it possible that he was as afraid as I was? Was it possible that all he'd been through hadn't prepared him for this kind of emotional turmoil? Was it possible that he was hoping just as desperately?

"I'm afraid," I blurted out, then I looked down hurriedly. I hadn't meant to say that, not out loud. Now he would know, he would know that I was weak and frightened.

"So am I," he told me. I blinked.

"What?" I managed, sure I'd heard him wrong. Harry was the strong one. He was the one who always knew what to do and how to do it. He was the one who'd done and seen things that none of the rest of us could even imagine. He was the one who never turned back. He couldn't have said what I thought he'd said, could he?

"I said, so am I," he said. "I'm scared to death."

"Why?"

He looked at me in something like exasperation. "Draco, you're the most beautiful person I've ever met. I can't imagine that it's _me_ you want. I'm afraid that you'll leave me, and now that I've found this, I don't think that I could let go. I'm afraid that we'll be forced apart by things beyond our control. I'm afraid that people will come after you and I won't be able to get there in time. I'm afraid of being helpless and unable to help you. Is that enough?"

I started to shake my head. He couldn't be afraid. I was the one who was scared. We couldn't both be scared. Surely he was just saying that to make me feel better. He reached over and gently touched my face again. "Can we try, please?"

Almost without thinking, I nodded. "Always," I murmured. I reached out to him, and slowly brought his face closer to mine. His breath caught, and our eyes caught and held. Our lips touched, and I was swept away on a tide of raw emotion and bliss.

* * *

Ginny had hoped to feel better after breaking up with Harry. She'd known that it was the right thing to do for both of them, but it had been incredibly hard. She suspected that it was because he hadn't seemed disappointed. Sure, he'd asked her if she was sure that it was what she wanted, and that he hoped that they could stay friends and all, but it was clear that his thoughts were somewhere else. That had produced a jealous reaction in her, and she had almost lost her nerve. But in the end, she'd managed to keep calm. She hadn't even let her voice wobble towards the end, though it wanted so desperately to do so. She wondered how Harry would have reacted if she had let go. She hadn't even considered it, she realized. Hiding her emotions had become so much a part of her that she didn't even think about it anymore.

Emily had tried to comfort her after he left, but Ginny had made it quite clear that she did not want comforting. She could handle it on her own. They were still friends, after all, and that was what really counted. She'd managed to get as far as the library before admitting to herself that she was not as fine as she could be, though she assured herself that it was only an observation. There was no way she was going to admit to feeling lost. Harry had been a cornerstone in her world, true, but that didn't mean that she was going to fall to pieces the moment he was gone. It wasn't even like he'd vanished from her life!

She didn't glance up when Hermione slipped into the seat next to her. The older girl didn't talk, only spread out her books on the other half of the table and bent her head over an essay that she was perfecting. The soothing sound of Hermione's quill scratching on the parchment allowed Ginny finally to relax, and she bent down over her own parchment. She supposed that everyone thought that she was writing an essay as well, but she wasn't. Ginny had never told anyone, but she was working on a novel. She didn't dare hope that it was good, but she could at least finish it before graduating this year. She reread her latest paragraph, then carefully scratched out the last sentence. Frowning, she nibbled on the end of her quill, then wrote, _she vanished, and the flames returned to simply dancing around the wood._ She reread the paragraph again, then nodded to herself. That fit better. She dipped her quill into the inkbottle again, and continued to write, wondering if she would ever have the courage to show her manuscript to anyone once she'd finished it.

She became aware that Hermione had stopped writing and, suddenly self conscious, she carefully set down her quill as well. Hermione was reading, and she appeared to be completely absorbed in the book, but Ginny knew that the moment she began to talk, Hermione would give her her full attention. She wondered if she wanted to talk. Certainly she didn't want to talk about Harry. But there _was_ that question about Arithmancy. She reached into her bag and pulled out her textbook, flipping it open to the page in question.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked.

Hermione glanced over, then put her favorite leather bookmark into the book that she was reading and nodded. "Of course." She then proceeded to explain all about the balance of the equations and how the magical formulas wouldn't balance correctly without the proper calculations. Ginny listened attentively, and when Hermione had finished, she nodded.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure," Hermione assured her, going back to her book. Ginny carefully wrote the equations and results on the scroll, then preformed a quick drying charm and rolled it up. She tied it with one of the blue ribbons that her mother had bought her, and carefully put it back into her bag. She scooped up her supplies and put those into the bag as well. She nodded to Hermione, and left the library. She could sense Hermione watching her, but she didn't alter her confidant gait, or turn to look back at her.

She didn't want to go back to the dormitory, and she certainly didn't want to meet anyone who would try to make her talk. Finally, she headed outside. She'd discovered a spot not far from the boundary of the Forbidden Forrest, close enough to allow her to watch the creatures that were brave enough to venture that close to the boundary, yet far enough away that she wouldn't get into trouble. She was about to drop her books into the spot when she realized that she wasn't alone. The telltale long blond hair revealed the presence of Luna Lovegood. Ginny wondered if she should leave, but Luna didn't seem to mind, and Ginny really did want to watch nature for a while. She nodded to Luna, who smiled serenely back, then sat down a little ways apart. Soon, Ginny had forgotten all about the blond Ravenclaw. The beauty of what she saw around her entranced her. Birds hopped through the branches, calling to each other in their businesslike voices.

Ever since she'd been big enough to run out of the house without one of her brothers, Ginny had loved to watch birds. She supposed that it was because they didn't try to kill each other with magic, or beat each other in sports. Like all children of her generation, Ginny had been raised in the knowledge that You-Know-Who was safely out of the way, but she couldn't ignore the stories. Fred and George had told her about some of the things that You-Know-Who had done, and she'd had nightmares for months until her mother had made them stop. Ever since then, she'd been disillusioned about the perfection of man, and she'd been drawn towards nature.

Even the best things must come to an end, though, and as the sun began to set over the castle, Ginny stood. She noticed that Luna had left already, and frowned slightly. She was normally fairly observant –a lifetime of living with Fred and George had made checking her surroundings second nature– but she'd been so wrapped up in the beauty of the forest that she hadn't paid attention to anything else. She chided herself sternly on the way back to the castle, reminding herself over and over again that there was danger in her world, and that she had to exercise, to use Moody's favorite phrase, constant vigilance. As she stepped into the front hall, she realized with a start that she was not ready to come back yet. The calm of the forest had tamed her feelings somewhat, but the moment she stepped into the building, the confusion and anger rolled back again. She turned back around and fled as quickly as she could back to the forest. Almost without realizing what she was doing, Ginny pushed her hands over the scar on her heart and whispered, "Dancing Moon."

There was a rustle in the underbrush, and the unicorn stepped out into the open. She looked at Ginny with wide, compassionate eyes, then gestured delicately for Ginny to follow. Ginny trailed her friend deeper into the forest, hoping that Dancing Moon would once again provide her with the knowledge of how to get out. Finally, they arrived at a small clearing. Ginny gasped in delight at the small spring that she discovered in the center of the clearing. She ran to it and dropped to her knees, dipping her hands into the ice-cold water. She drank deeply, allowing the crystal-clear liquid to run down her face and neck, drenching her clothes in the process.

When she looked up again, Dancing Moon was watching her. Ginny backed away from the pool, allowing the unicorn to step forward and drink in her turn. Finally, Dancing Moon turned to Ginny. "What is troubling you, Genevera?"

Ginny started. She hadn't expected Dancing Moon to be able to talk to her. "How can I understand you?"

"You are a friend of the unicorns. The mark over your heart binds you irreversibly to us. Perhaps you will have a part to play in the wars of men, perhaps one to play in the wars of my people. Either way, we are bound, you and I. You cannot understand others unless they place their horns where I did, but you and I may converse freely. What is troubling you?"

She sighed, and looked down at the ground. Slowly, she began to explain to Dancing Moon what had happened. The unicorn listened in silence, then asked quietly, "So you no longer care about this male?"

"No, that's the problem. I _do_ care about him. I still love him, Dancing Moon. I've always loved him. But he doesn't love me anymore. I can see that, and I knew that it was the right thing to do. If I'm going to get my heart broken, then I may as well do it on my own terms."

"But if he no longer cares for you, then perhaps he is not the right one for you? Among my people, there is an ancient wisdom: three cannot honor the Lady together."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that every person has one who is for them. You do not always find them, and you are sometimes led astray, but every person has only one who is truly for them. If your male no longer cares for you, then perhaps you simply have not found the one for you yet."

"Or maybe he's being led astray."

"Perhaps. In that case, then you need not worry. If he is simply treading the wrong path, then he will eventually realize his mistake and return to you."

Ginny though about this. Was it possible that he would come back to her? He'd seemed to be drifting completely away, but would he realize his mistake and come back? "How can I get him to realize that I am the one for him?"

Dancing Moon looked at her sadly. "You cannot, Genevera. If he is indeed simply making a mistake, then you must allow him to realize it on his own terms. It is possible that anything you do will lead him farther down the wrong path. It is possible to change the correct path, you know."

Ginny sighed. "So I should just wait for him to come back to me?"

Dancing Moon seemed to consider this for a moment, and then she looked at Ginny with what could possibly have been a mischievous expression. "You could help him return by finding someone of your own."

Ginny's own eyes began to sparkle slightly. "Now _that_ is a very good idea, Dancing Moon. You've just given me a rather wicked scheme!"

* * *

Colin Creevy didn't consider himself handsome. He knew for a fact that he was far too skinny to be handsome, and he had no athletic talent whatsoever. The only thing he was really good at was taking pictures, and most people didn't appreciate just how hard that was. But taking pictures didn't get you a girlfriend, and he had decided that this would be the year he finally got himself one. The only trouble was that he had no idea how to go about achieving his goal. He didn't even know who he wanted to pick!

The girls in his year were all right, he supposed. Ginny Weasley was, of course, gorgeous, but she was taken already. Emily Sandburn was, in a word, _boring_, and Mira Saiid, though a possibility, wasn't what he was looking for. In the other houses there weren't any interesting girls, though there was one in Slytherin who looked slightly intriguing. He had, however, ruled out Slytherin completely in an effort not to appear _too_ desperate. If Luna Lovegood had any notion that anyone but herself existed, then he would even have taken a go at her, but she didn't, and was therefore inaccessible.

By April, Colin was beginning to despair of ever finding anyone. He was the skinny, nerdy fifth year Gryffindor, and no self-respecting female would even look twice at him. He pretended not to notice, but it hurt. Still, he still had his camera to see him through hard times, and he began spending more and more time waiting to get just the right angle for a picture. It didn't really matter what it was a picture of, just that he get it perfect.

Ginny interrupted him just as he was adjusting the settings of the apparatus yet again. He was trying to get the sunset over the lake, and the camera wouldn't cooperate. He looked up in annoyance at the disturbance, and for moment, didn't even register who she was. "Go away!"

"I take it this is a bad time?"

Her voice brought him back to reality, and he flushed. "No," he managed. "No, it's not. I'm sorry."

She smiled at him. "It's fine to turn me away, you know," she said, bending over so that the ends of her hair brushed his arm. "I can come back later."

"No, it's not a bad time," he said again, wondering if he should brush her hair off. It felt nice on his skin, but he didn't want her to think that he was taking advantage of her. "The sun's not right anyway."

"What are you trying to get?"

He explained his grand vision, and she seemed genuinely interested. She managed to ask intelligent questions, and he found himself warming to the topic. It turned into a long lecture about the mechanics of the camera and the position of the light needed, and when he was finished, he was positive that she was going to walk away in disgust. To his amazement, she still looked interested. "I had no idea that it was that complicated," she admitted. "I always thought, well, it's just a picture. But it's a lot more than that, isn't it?"

He shrugged, bending back over his camera. "That depends on who you are, I suppose."

"But for you," she insisted.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It's a lot more to me."

She was quiet for a moment, then glanced up at him through her hair. "Colin, I'm not sure how to ask this."

"Yes?"

"Will you go with me to the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

He stared at her, sure that he'd misheard. "What?"

She flushed and looked down at the ground. "It's okay if you don't want to. I mean, I'll understand."

"No, I'd… love to go to Hogsmeade with you."

She looked up at him, her grin lighting up her face. "Great! I'll see you on Saturday, then, shall I?"

He nodded, and she walked happily away. He watched her depart, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into this time.

* * *

Ron stormed into the Gryffindor common room, his brown eyes snapping with righteous fury. He ignored everyone in his search for the one wretched girl that he intended to have a few defined words with. She, curse her, seemed to be expecting him, because she put her book down and stood, walking towards him and somehow managing to draw him into a corner devoid of any other people. A few expertly cast silencing charms later, she faced him, hands on her hips. "Well?" she asked, eyeing him darkly. "What have I done this time?"

"Colin Creevy," Ron spat.

"And?"

Ron stared at her. Surely that explained it all! "You are _Harry's_ girlfriend!" he seethed. "Don't you have _any_ loyalty?"

"For your information," she told him coldly. "Harry and I broke up this morning."

"You don't take your time, do you?" Ron sneered. "Going through boys like lightning, you are. What would mum say if she knew?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare tell mum _anything_, Ronald Weasley."

"I should," he shot back. "Honestly Ginny, I thought you had better sense than that!"

"And what do _you_ know about girls?" she demanded. "You can't even get Hermione to go out with you!"

Ron spluttered with indignation. "That has nothing to do with this conversation! This is about you and Harry!"

"We're still friends," Ginny pointed out. Ron was gratified to see that she was turning pink. At least he wasn't the only one who was embarrassed.

"You could have waited to find someone else!" he shot back. "And… Colin _Creevy_?!"

She shrugged. "He's liked me forever," she said breezily. "I thought I'd give him a try."

His eyes widened, and he almost chocked. "You thought you'd _give him a __**try**_? God, listen to yourself Ginny! You sound like Parvati!"

"This is a bad thing why?" she asked.

"You _want_ to be like Parvati?"

"Parvati and I are a lot alike, you know." From the look on her face, she hadn't meant to say that.

"You're _what_?!"

Ginny glanced around, apparently making sure that no one was watching. Ron looked himself: everyone seemed to have lost interest in them. "Promise me that you'll never tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you," she hissed, drawing him closer.

He frowned. "Depends on what it is."

"Just promise, or I'll never tell you anything ever again."

His eyes widened. "Is it that important to you?"

She nodded, biting her lip. Ron was suddenly reminded of the sister he'd known before they came to Hogwarts. Ginny had changed so much in that time, but, for an instant, she was exactly the same as she'd been all those years ago.

"I promise." Only after the words had left his lips did he realize that this might not have been the wisest step to take. But the words had been said now, and there was no going back.

She took a deep breath, then began to talk. She told of seeing Harry for the first time at the train station, and told of longing for him for years. She told of his finally seeing the light and of having all of her dreams come true. All of this, Ron already knew. But then, she spoke of unicorns and promises, and of watching Harry slowly slip away from her. By the time she'd finished, there were tears dripping slowly down her face. It was the first time Ron had seen her cry in ages, and he felt suddenly insanely protective of her.

She sniffed slightly and looked up at him. He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her spontaneously for the first time in years, and let her cling to his solid form. She didn't cry anymore. She was done crying, and now she just clung. Moments later, she pushed him away. He didn't mind.

"Thank you," she said.

He grinned. "That's what brothers are for," he informed her.

She rolled her eyes. "Try telling that to Fred and George."

He snorted. "Well, some brothers," he amended. She giggled, then summoned a nearby chair. She dropped into it, not removing the barrier of silence. Ron lounged against the wall, watching her.

"And so who are you going to go after when you get tired of Colin?" he asked, realizing just after he'd finished asking that he didn't want the answer to that question.

She grinned. "Well, I've just about gone through all the boys," she said slowly, a mad twinkle in her bright eyes.

Ron's mouth fell open in shock. "Ginevera Weasley, you aren't considering _girls_, are you?"

Ginny smirked, reminding Ron eerily of Malfoy for a single moment. Just as quickly, the image flew from his mind, leaving him rather relived. He had no desire to think of Malfoy. "And why not?" she asked.

"Mum would just about _die_!"

"She wouldn't have to know," Ginny pointed out. "I won't tell her if you don't, and we're the last two here."

Ron frowned. "You will have to pay me _very_ well to get me to turn a blind eye to _that_," he said severely.

She considered this for a moment. Then, a grin brightened her features. "I can get you the best of Honeyduke's new items."

"How?"

She smirked again. "That would be telling," she informed him. "Do we have a deal?"

He nodded, a little grudgingly. "We do," he agreed. "Just… be discreet, will you?"

She grinned coyly at him. "I promise." Ron shuddered and looked away. His sister was growing up _far_ too fast in his opinion.


	18. 8: calm before the storm 1

_Author's note: we were delighted to read all the encouraging reviews we got for the last chapter. they really did make us feel warm and fuzzy inside. there's nothing we as author's like more than getting reviews, so please don't hesitate to leave us one. -grins- we also want to apologize to those leaving anonymous reviews: we yelled at you for not leaving your email addresses without realizing that that's no longer an option. we can't say we approve of this change, but, then, we're not very fond of the new in general, so there's no change there. however, if you do want to leave your email address (and we would love it if you would!) remember that doesn't allow url's in reviews. so either put spaces between sections or do something so that it doesn't look like a url. thanks a lot!  
Disclaimer: it's very, very cold outside (last time we checked, it was 7 degrees F, which is up from -6 this morning...) and our hot chocolate is too peppermint-y for its own good, so we could use something to warm us up. like the rights to harry potter. but the world is cruel, so we just have to make do with sweaters and thoughts of warm places. like the ice rink. seriously. the rink sounds really, really nice right now. it would be all warm on the ice, and i could skate in my tank-top (yes, i wore a tank-top today. stop looking at me like that! i'm wearing a sweater over it! even if it is only a half sweater and my coat doesn't close... i'm insane. deal with it.) anyway, this is way, way too long a rant about the cold weather, so suffice it to say that none of us own harry potter. seriously, we don't.  
--kyra

* * *

_

8: calm before the storm

Harry had been rehearsing his invitation over and over again, hoping that when the time came, he would manage to blurt it out without embarrassing himself. By the time Transfiguration was finally over, he was sweating, and trying his hardest to keep it from Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked at suspiciously, but left after a reluctant moment. The others seemed excruciatingly slow to leave, and it was ages until the two of them were alone again. Draco waited until Professor McGonagall had locked and warded the classroom before slipping out of his desk and coming over to where Harry was standing.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Harry looked at Draco, hoping that the blush wouldn't take over. "Hey," he answered, a little shakily.

Draco frowned. "Harry, what is it?" he asked, anxious.

"Do you… I mean would you…" Harry trailed off, looking down at the ground. Why was this so hard? He'd invited Draco at Christmas without nearly this much trouble, despite the fact that they weren't even talking to each other, so why now? 'Things were different at Christmas,' a voice in his head reminded him. 'Christmas was before.'

Draco was looking at him in a sort of terrified curiosity and Harry, with an unusual flash of insight, realized that Draco was expecting Harry to dump him. Remorse flooded him, and he grabbed Draco's hand. The contact soothed him somewhat, and Harry managed to blurt out, "Would you like to come to Grimauld Place with me for Easter?"

Draco stared at him, eyes wide.

"Just the two of us," Harry amended. "Together."

"Are you serious?" Draco managed.

Harry grinned, most of his composure regained. "Perfectly, Draco. You can always say no."

"Say no?!" Draco demanded. "Why do you think I'd say no?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, to tell you the truth, I was rather hoping that you wouldn't."

Draco grinned back, and there was a sparkle in his gray eyes. "Harry, I would love to spend Easter with you."

"Excellent!" Harry said, feeling the knot of tension unravel in his midsection. "However, as it's two weeks until Easter, what are we going to do until then?"

Draco frowned for a moment, then his face took on a wicked expression. "You know," he said grinning. "We never did settle our duel from September."

Harry gaped at him. "You want us to duel? You know McGonagall will have our heads if she knew, don't you?"

Draco shrugged. "I won't tell her if you don't," he responded. He was already fingering his wand, and Harry wondered at how much he wanted this.

It was that that made Harry give in, of course. Draco was too precious to refuse. He shrugged in turn and drew his wand. Draco unsheathed his and frowned for a moment. Then he grinned, and made a twisting motion with his wrist. Harry felt a slight difference in the feel of the room, and knitted his brows, trying to figure out what Draco had done.

"Stop it!" Draco said, laughing a little. "Honest to God, Harry, you're distracting me!"

"What did you do?" Harry demanded.

"I reinforced the wards," Draco said. "In case we decide to meddle with things that we probably shouldn't."

"Since when can you make wards?"

"I can't yet. They're really tricky things to make. Upon reflection, McGonagall was nice just taking fifty points each away. I'd have taken away at least a hundred if they'd been mine."

Harry glowered. "She gave you some back, though," he muttered. That insult had still not been forgotten.

Draco shrugged flippantly. "You and the rest of you lions have made up for it, though," he replied. "You're almost ahead of us this year. Maybe you won't need Dumbledore to give you extra points at the Feast."

Harry grinned wickedly, marveling at how he could take what would have been a terrible insult only a few months ago and turn it into a twisted compliment. "Maybe I'll be nice to you this year and try not by too heroic in June."

Draco laughed. "You do that, Potter," he answered. "But for now, let's duel!"

The two of them brought their wands up. As an afterthought, Harry banished the desks to the wall, leaving them a clear space to work. Draco nodded his thanks, and they faced each other. Unlike the other times, both bowed. They stood again, and regarded each other in silence for a split second, before shouting in unison.

"STUPEFY!"

"EXPELIARMUS!"

The bolts of light collided at the same time, but Harry was ready for it. He came again with a lightning fast petrifying jinx. Draco caught it out of the corner of his eye, and tried to dodge, but the jinx caught him in the arm. He cursed as he stiffened, and Harry crowed his victory. He finally took pity on Draco, and ended the spell. As Draco sprang back to life, his wand was pointed and he was shouting something at Harry. Harry felt something cold slither up his leg, and he looked down to see a leg-locking jinx. He glared at Draco.

Draco laughed. "Never underestimate a Malfoy!" he cried in triumph.

Harry grinned, thinking of revenge. His grin turned evilly gleeful as he thought of the perfect curse. He pointed his wand at Draco and spoke the incantation that Ginny had taught him. A shower of bats shot out of Draco's nose, causing him to shriek in disgust. Harry laughed, and allowed Draco to glare at him for several more seconds before reversing the hex.

"You are going to pay for that, Potter!" Draco gasped.

"Next time," Harry informed him. "I believe I won that match."

Draco looked pointedly at Harry's still frozen legs. He reached over and deliberately pushed Harry. Harry's arms swung wildly, trying to keep his balance, but without the use of his legs, he topped in a heap to the ground. Draco stood victoriously over his prone form. "Excuse me?" he asked calmly. "I believe the victory goes to me."

Harry groaned, and held up a hand. Draco shook his head. "Concede," he said firmly. "I learn from your mistakes."

Harry sighed. "I, Harry James Potter, do hereby concede that you, Draco Lucius Malfoy did win our Wizard's duel and do formally swear not to continue to fight. Satisfied?"

Draco grinned and pulled Harry to his feet. Harry looked pointedly at his still immobile legs and Draco swished his wand elegantly. Harry's legs sprang apart again, and he promptly fell over again in shock.

"You're getting up on your own, Harry," Draco informed him, lounging against a nearby desk.

Harry glared at him, and rose a little painfully to his feet. "You are going to pay for this," he informed Draco, putting his wand into his pocket.

Draco did the same. "Not today I'm not," he said merrily. "You lost."

"I won't lose again," Harry promised. "Next time, it's you who ends up surrendering."

"We'll see next time, won't we?" Draco asked.

"We certainly will," Harry agreed.

* * *

They dueled several more times over the course of the next two weeks. They split the victories fairly evenly, though Draco swore that he'd won more than Harry. Harry was willing to compromise, and the final score was something like ten and a half each, with the fourth duel split in the middle. They were just cheap distractions, though. As the Easter Holidays approached, Harry felt more and more nervous. What had possessed him to invite Draco? He knew that he loved the other boy, that wasn't the problem at all. But did Draco love him back? He said he did, and Harry didn't doubt the emotion in the other boy's words. But were they really true? By the time Saturday rolled around, Harry had given himself an awful headache and a severe case of nerves. Draco recognized the signs, and dragged Harry into a long discussion that started and ended with Quidditch, but wandered many places in between. Just as the bell rang, Draco kissed Harry briefly. They rarely kissed, preferring to demonstrate their affection more subtly, and Harry looked in amazement at his friend. Draco smirked. "You looked like you needed it," he said. He scooped up his books smoothly and sauntered out of the room, leaving Harry delighted and a bit more at ease. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. Others, though, were less certain.

"You're going _back_ to that madhouse?" Ron demanded incredulously when Harry told him where he was going for the holidays

Harry sighed. "Yes, Ron. I have to go back."

"But why now? And why alone?"

Harry tried to cover up a wince at the word _alone_. If only Ron knew… though, on second thought, it was probably just as well that he didn't. "I need to face my demons some day," he said evasively. "It'll go faster if I don't have to worry about anyone else."

Ron grimaced. "I think that you're insane," he said flatly. "You'd be better off staying here. Or you could go to my house! I'm sure Mum would be delighted."

"I'd love to, believe me," Harry said earnestly. "But I can't. This is just something I have to do."

Ron rolled his eyes, but didn't press the matter, for which Harry was grateful. They spent the rest of the evening playing a game of chess, which Harry lost spectacularly.

"You just have to think ahead," Ron told him yet again. "Look, Harry. You think one, _maybe_ two moves ahead. You see where my pieces are and react to the immediate threat. But what if I'm trapping you? You don't think of that, and so you let me win.

Harry sighed. "I'm not the brilliant strategist you are, Ron," he said. "I _can't_ do more than respond to the immediate threat. It's why I'm still alive."

Ron refrained from speaking. Harry suspected that he was thinking of Sirius, and appreciated Ron's silence. He himself shoved all thoughts of Sirius out of his head, and conjured up Draco's face instead.

Ron apparently noticed his distraction, because he leaned across the chessboard and asked quietly, "What was it with you and Ginny?"

Harry blinked. He'd completely forgotten about Ginny, and it took a moment to remember that Ron thought he was still in love with her. "Nothing happened," Harry answered. "We just drifted apart."

Ron snorted his disbelief. "Harry, you were crazy for her this summer. How is it that all of a sudden you've 'drifted apart'?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It happens, you know," he said.

"Yeah, but in a year?"

"Ron, some people change girlfriends once a _week_! Seven months is a long time."

Ron looked at him closely. Then, he frowned. "Harry, there's someone else, isn't there?"

Harry sighed. He should have known that Ron would figure it out. He could only hope to dear God that Ron didn't know _who_ Harry had fallen for. "Yeah," he said quietly. "There's someone else."

"Who?"

"Look, Ron. I really don't want to talk about it."

"Come on, mate! Is she pretty?"

Harry considered his options. Personally, he found Draco gorgeous, but was the other boy _pretty_? Finally, he shrugged. "Yeah," he said.

Ron laughed. "You _do _sound enthusiastic, don't you?" Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "It's who you're going to Grimauld Place with, isn't it?"

Harry nodded.

Ron whistled softly. "Wow, you move fast. Unless," his face hardened suddenly, "You weren't cheating on Ginny, were you?"

"Of course not!" Harry said heatedly. "Who do you think I am, anyway?"

Ron looked slightly ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just in case."

"I'm not going to cheat on _anyone_," Harry told Ron firmly. "When I realized that I liked… the other person, I was going to break up with her. She just did it first."

"She was really hurt, though," Ron said, still looking slightly angry.

"I didn't want that," Harry told him earnestly. "I didn't set out to hurt her."

Ron sighed slightly. "I know you didn't, mate," he said quietly. "I know."

They sat in silence for a little while longer, then Harry stood. "I'm going to bed," he announced. "I'll see you in the morning."

Ron nodded, and Harry climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

* * *

The train ride out to London was quiet. There were fewer people going home for Easter than for Christmas, and I risked a few extra visits to Harry's carriage. On the last of these, I set up temporary wards, and we talked for a long time, discussing plans and silly wishes. I expressed a desire to go on a muggle Easter egg hunt, expecting him to mock me. To my astonishment, he seemed to actually consider the idea. He grinned slowly. "I think that can be done," he said.

I blinked. "You're going to set up an Easter egg hunt because I said that it'd be fun?" I asked, amazed.

He grinned. "I've never been on a real one," he admitted. "With the Dursleys, they were all for Dudley. I was lucky if he gave me a couple pieces of candy."

I felt anger boil up at the mention of Harry's guardians. Didn't they realize how special he was? Didn't they know that he deserved better?

"Leave it alone," Harry said softly. "Don't let them ruin our holiday."

I sighed. "Harry, how do you _always_ know when I'm thinking of ways to kill them?"

He smiled, a little sadly. "Because I know you as well as I know myself, and I think the same things all the time. It just leads to depression when you realize that murder isn't legal in either of my worlds."

"Shame, isn't it?" I asked, without thinking. His face closed, and I realized what I'd just said. "Oh Gods, Harry!" I murmured. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking! Please forgive me!"

With an effort, he smiled at me. "Don't worry," he said, touching my hand gently. "You're always forgiven. You don't even need to ask."

"I feel like an insensitive git right now," I admitted.

His smile became slightly more genuine, and he slipped his hand all the way into mine. "But that's why I love you," he told me.

"Why, because I'm an insensitive git?"

"No, because you realize it. Do you know how refreshing that is?"

I laughed slightly, some of the overwhelming guilt receding. He didn't hate me. Not anymore. "Glad to be of service," I told him.

We couldn't risk being together any longer, so I hugged him briefly, then undid the ward and slipped back into the hallway. I passed Millicent Bulstrode on the way back to my own carriage, and she looked at me oddly, in a partly annoyed, partly knowing look. I glared at her. "What?" I demanded.

She glared back. "Nothing, Malfoy. I didn't say a word." She brushed past me and on down the corridor, leaving me with a feeling part relief part frustration. She'd looked like she knew something, and I wanted badly to know if it was about me and Harry. If she did know… I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. If she knew, then we would have to wait and find out what she did. If she didn't know, I was just worrying for nothing. The theory of that works better in words than in practice, though.

We got off the train at King's Cross station, and I once again followed Harry through the barrier and into the muggle world.

"I'm not riding the underground," I hissed at him. "I swear, if you make me ride it again, I'll Apparate and send all the sensors down on you."

He looked at me in surprise. "You can Apparate?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I know the basic theory. I've never tried it, so if I splinch myself, that's your fault too."

He sighed. "What about a bus?" he asked. "Would that be satisfactory?"

I nodded. "That will do," I told him. We turned a different direction from last time, and stopped by a metal signpost. Harry pulled out his wallet and fished out several coins. He dropped some of these into my hand, and I closed my fist around them. I made a mental note to get my own muggle money as soon as possible. It wasn't fair to keep making Harry pay my way. Malfoys don't take charity.

The bus was a pleasant surprise. It was much more comfortable than the underground, and I found myself actually enjoying the experience. When our stop arrived, he practically had to drag me off.

"Well now I know how to get you to go places with me," he said with a smirk. "I'll promise you a bus trip to get there."

I grinned back. "The novelty will wear off eventually," I assured him.

"Then I'll take advantage of it while it lasts, shall I?" he asked, neatly sidestepping an elderly lady and her shopping cart. She frowned at us, and muttered something unintelligible, but we ignored her. In front of our eyes, Harry's home appeared. We stepped through the gate, and I felt the slight tingling that told me that we'd passed through a magical barrier as well as a physical one.

Harry pushed open the door and bellowed, "KREACHER!"

The ancient house elf appeared in front of us with a crack. "The Master is back," he said, in dismay. "He has brought the pure-blood with him."

"How observant," Harry said sarcastically. "Remind me to give you an extra thump for stating the obvious. We'll be here for a week. Your orders are the same as last time."

Kreacher bowed, and then left with an angry crack.

* * *

Harry was delighted to have the time to spend alone with Draco. He didn't realize how much he'd always been on his guard until he didn't have to be anymore. Here, no one who knew either of them was anywhere close, and they could both afford to relax. They went out most days, though not always all day, and Harry delighted in showing Draco the wonders of muggle London. Harry himself hadn't been to all of the places that he showed Draco, and he found just as much pleasure in them as the pureblooded boy did. After one such trip, a visit to the Tower of London, Draco pointed out, "You do realize that we are slowly but surely bankrupting ourselves?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll be able to work in a couple years," he said. "We can easily replenish our accounts then. And you'll inherit all of your family's money when you turn seventeen, won't you?"

Draco nodded. "Most of it, anyway. My parents keep control of a small portion until they die. After that, everything that's left reverts to me."

Harry grimaced. "That sounds unnecessarily complicated," he said.

Draco shrugged. "It's the way it's always worked," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know, eventually traditions will have to change," he pointed out.

"Maybe, but they haven't so far," Draco said dryly. "And I doubt that they will before I inherit."

"I suppose," Harry agreed.

They stood in silence for a short moment, then Harry said, "You know, you've never said what your family did to get all their money."

Draco shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. We already had most of it when I was born. I suppose that they must have either taken many bribes or been high in the government. My father did that for a while."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You mean he actually _made_ money instead of just giving it away?"

"Of course he made money! He was on the board of directors, and that pays well. Not to mention that he was high enough up to be getting bribes of his own."

Harry grinned. "Good point," he said.

They started walking again, admiring the perfectly planned gardens. "You know," Harry said suddenly. "They should put in a garden like this at school. Not a maze," he grimaced, shying away from the entire concept of hedge mazes, "but just a garden with flowers."

Draco looked at him in surprise. "I never thought of you as being particularly nature-orientated."

Harry shrugged. "I have my moments," he said. "Sometimes it's nice to be able to lose yourself in nature."

Draco's eyes took on a speculative gleam. "We could plant one of our own," he said, grinning.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, your house has a yard, doesn't it? We may as well put it to good use."

Harry laughed. "Well, since I have absolutely no experience in gardening, I think you might be on your own."

Draco laughed as well. "To be perfectly honest, I don't have any experience with it either. We could learn, though."

Harry considered the idea, then grinned. "If it makes you happy."

"_You're_ the one who wanted a garden," Draco protested. "_I_ could care less!"

"Then you're going to suffer through our attempts to garden because of me? That's very sweet of you, Draco."

Draco grimaced. "Get one thing through your head, Harry," he snarled. "I. Am. Not. _Sweet_. Got it?"

Harry widened his eyes innocently. "Yes Draco," he said. "I understand!"

"Good. Now, is there anything special that you want to plant?"

* * *

He hadn't been expecting the nightmares. Draco had been fine lately, even happy. But then, he knew from experience how easy it was to shove emotions under your skin and pretend like they didn't matter. He shouldn't have been surprised to know that there were still times when Draco woke up terrified. But he was. He didn't notice the first one until much later and, reflecting back, he berated himself unmercifully. But he didn't see what he wasn't expecting to see, so it passed by unnoticed. The second one, though… It came the night of their excursion to the Tower. Harry was woken up by an insistent pressure in his bladder, and as he slipped into the hallway to relieve himself, he thought that he could hear muffled sobbing from Draco's room.

As he came back from the bathroom, he stopped by the door. Yes, the occupant was definitely crying, but would he welcome Harry's interference? Harry stood outside the door for a long moment, before finally pushing the door open quietly. Sure enough, Draco was curled up in a corner, clutching his pillow to his chest, weeping as quietly he could into it. He started at the noise that Harry made, and turned to look. His face took on a slightly hostile cast.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

"I heard you from in the hall," Harry said, closing the door behind him. His eyes had adjusted to the faint moonlight coming in from the window, and he had no trouble finding his way to the bed.

"What are you doing up in the first place?"

Harry grimaced. "Eminent bladder explosion," he offered.

Draco sighed. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I'll be fine."

Harry wanted to press him, wanted to be stubborn, but he didn't know just how far he could go. "Are you sure that you don't want to say anything?" It sounded lame, and he knew the answer before it came out of Draco's lips.

"I'll be fine," Draco said.

Harry hesitated, but moved towards the door. He was about to close it behind him, when a soft voice called out, "Wait!"

Harry turned. "Yes?"

Draco looked down, his face flaming. "Just sit with me for a while. Please?"

"Of course." Harry walked back to Draco's bedside and sat down in a chair, reaching over to take Draco's hand in his. Draco held onto it fiercely, clinging as though Harry were his only link to the world. Harry clung back just as strongly, and they didn't talk for a long moment. The only sound in the room was Draco's harsh breathing as he struggled to compose himself. Finally, Draco's grip lessened on Harry's hand, and he breathed a soft sigh.

"Thank you."

"Any time," Harry said. He didn't move, and Draco didn't ask him to. Eventually, the blond boy drifted back into sleep, still clutching Harry's hand. Harry didn't know how long he sat there, watching Draco sleep. He might have dozed off after a while, but he was jerked into full awareness by tightening on his hand. Draco's pale face had gone completely white, and he was breathing hard. He thrashed around for a moment, then went rigidly still.

"Please, no!" he cried out. His eyes sprang open, and Harry could feel the terror that engulfed him. Without thinking, he increased his grip on Draco's hand. The pressure seemed to register in Draco's brain, because he slowly relaxed, and turned to face Harry. His face was still white, but his breathing was slowing to a normal speed. Harry could see the unshed tears glistening in his eyes, but didn't comment. If Draco needed to talk, he would. There was a long moment of silence, and then Draco began to speak. His voice was quiet, steady, but Harry though that he could detect a slight tremor in his words.

"He hit me, when I was younger. When I displeased him, or when he was angry, he would hit me. He thought that I should be like him, cold and uncaring. But I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to stop caring. And so he would hit me. I was terrified of him, you know. I was terrified of him, but I worshiped him at the same time. When I was little, he was the standard that I yearned to reach. As I grew, I realized that I didn't want to be like him, and respect turned to hatred, but the fear was the same. I can't remember a time when I wasn't afraid of him. It was something that permeated my childhood. It ate me from inside, making me into the person that I am. I built walls and barriers, blocking myself off from the world. They're still there, lurking, waiting for something to happen to make them snap back up again."

Harry was horrified. He'd never imagined something like that, never imagined that Draco's childhood had been so terrible. He'd thought his own had been bad, but the Dursleys sounded perfectly angelic when compared to Lucius Malfoy. Draco wasn't crying, though his eyes were still bright. He was waiting for Harry to say something, anything, but Harry had no idea what to say. There wasn't really anything _to_ say. The damage had been done.

"I… I don't know what to tell you," he said finally. "Words can't change the past."

"I know," Draco whispered. "That's why I don't talk about it. It's too painful, and words won't make a difference."

"If you ever need to say anything, though, just tell me. I'll listen."

"But will you understand?"

"I'll try as hard as I can."

Draco sighed. "I suppose that that's as good as I can expect. It's not like I want you to go through that just so that you can understand what I'm talking about."

Harry had to grin at that. "I'm just as glad that you don't," he said.

Draco managed a weak smile. "So am I." They sat in silence for a long time. Finally, Draco said, "You don't have to stay."

"Do you want me to?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

"Neither would I. Though it would be nice to be able to lie down."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"That depends on what you think, doesn't it?"

"Harry Potter, do you want to sleep with me?"

They both burst out laughing at that. It wasn't even that funny, but they needed to relieve the tension in the room, and the comment came at just the right time. Finally, Harry said, "I would love to, Draco, but I'm afraid that I've sworn to be a virgin until my wedding night."

Draco eyed him approvingly. "I was beginning to wonder about your morals. But it's chilly. If you promise not to try to ravish me in my sleep, I might allow you a little bit of the bed."

"Your virtue is safe in my hands," Harry promised. He slipped off the chair and into the bed. It was still warm from Draco's body heat, and Harry wriggled down until his feet brushed the foot of the bed. He felt Draco shift slightly, relieving the pressure on his arm. He closed his eyes, not letting go of Draco's hand. Whether it was because of the contact, or because the demons had been exorcised for tonight, there were no more nightmares for either of them.

* * *

We spend far too much time lounging around doing nothing at all, I'm afraid to say. He'd started the week promising to take me sightseeing, but then managed to forget all about it. Instead, we talked for long hours at a time, speculating on everything from Quidditch to school to politics. The only topic we strenuously avoided was that of our own future. What would happen to us over the summer? I'd be seventeen in June, and he would in July, but what would we do then? Was he willing to drop everything for me, or would this just be a happy accident that wasn't destined to last? I was afraid of the answer, and so didn't ask him the questions.

On Friday morning, I looked out of the window to see rain streaming down the glass. I grimaced. If we'd had any plans for going out today, they were gone now. No one was going anywhere. Harry came down the stairs, meeting me halfway up as I returned to put on a sweater.

"Cold?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I shrugged. "Rain," I answered. He grinned. I scowled at him, then pushed past to get to my trunk. Once there, I rooted around until I came up with a black wool sweater. I pulled it on over my head, drawing it down carefully to avoid charging my hair with static electricity. He might be willing to walk around with his hair sticking up all over the place, but I wasn't.

I found him cooking breakfast for the two of us. I sat down at the table, and he pushed a bowl of stuff towards me. I eyed it blankly. "What exactly am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Stir it," he said. "What did you think you were supposed to do, stare at it?"

"Stop it!" I said, picking up the wooden spoon that stuck out of the mess and rotating it gingerly. "You know perfectly well that I am no good in the kitchen!"

"Then it's high time you learned," he said, expertly whisking a mixture of some kind of fruit sauce around in a pan.

"Why?" I asked. "It's not like I'll ever have to cook in real life."

He snorted. "Oh yeah?" he asked, coming over to me. He watched me for a moment, then shook his head in exasperation. He took the spoon from me and began to stir much more rapidly, somehow avoiding splashing the batter all over the table. "You need to be firm with it," he informed me, giving the spoon back. I started to stir again, but he only grimaced. "No, like this." His hand wrapped around mine, demonstrating the proper way to mix batter. I couldn't concentrate on what he was telling me; all of my attention was fixed on the hand that enveloped mine. He was _voluntarily_ touching me! Even after all his reassurances, I still found it hard to believe that he, Harry Potter, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, had chosen _me_, Draco Malfoy, the Ice Prince of Slytherin.

His hand stopped moving over mine, and I felt his eyes travel down until they came to my hand. His gaze lifted and met mine, and he grinned crookedly. I smiled shakily back, reminding myself to breathe.

"Are you actually paying attention to what I'm saying?" he asked.

"Of course I am!" I protested, knowing full well that he would see through the lie.

Sure enough, "Don't even try to lie to me, Draco. I know that you weren't."

I didn't deny it this time, and a trace of laughter crept into his green eyes. "You know," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave and making me shiver. "We don't have to do this right now."

I stood, taking his meaning perfectly. He drew me towards the center of the room, and we stared at each other for a long moment before he pulled me close and kissed me quite thoroughly.

When we parted, I observed, "If my parents could see me now, they would have a fit."

Harry laughed, but I could see the trace of uncertainty in his face. I knew what he was thinking. "I can't allow them to haunt me forever," I said quietly. "I have to face them someday."

He nodded, still skeptical. I kissed him again, trying to alleviate the tension in his face. I didn't want to deal with my parents now, and I fought to send them back where they came from. I was a bit disgusted that I'd brought them up in the first place, and I realized that it was my responsibility to send them packing once more.

He watched me with those emerald eyes, and I wondered what he was thinking about. Suddenly, I needed desperately to hear him say that he loved me, craved the reassurance that those simple words would bring. "Tell me," I whispered desperately, clinging to him.

He understood perfectly, as I'd hoped he would, and held me back, the strength of his arms a barrier against the demons in my head. "I love you," he whispered firmly into my ear. "I always will."

I didn't respond, didn't thank him. That would cheapen the moment. Instead, I entwined my hands in his hair and kissed him soundly. I never did learn how to stir pancake batter properly.


	19. 8 calm before the storm 2

Author's note: well, it made it all the way up to 34 degrees today. i swear, that's positively broiling hot! -grins- i could have run around in that tank top i was wearing yesterday. _(_**Yes dear, and then you would have frozen, and that would have been bad.**_) (Though possibly not that great a loss...)_ shut up tamara. and caroline, i don't care. i told you, i'm a skater: i can deal with temperature changes. -sighs- anyway, getting to the actual _story_, i have to say that chapter 8 is my favorite chapter of them all. it's so... so... well, you'll see... -grins- _(I disagree: I prefer the darker ones chapters.) _that's because you're morbid. _(But I'm the author.)_ we're _all_ the authors, dear. remember? _(No comment...) _-sigh-...  
disclaimer: i own nothing, caroline owns nothing, tamara owns nothing... _(You make it sound like we're homeless and pennyless!)_ they know what i meant. _(You think?) _yes, i do think. i give my readers credit for intelligance. why, don't you? _(...No comment... again...)_ she really does love you, i promise! _(So long as they keep reviewing!) _well, yeah, but since they review anyway, then i see no reason to beg them to... _(You should _always_ beg for reviews.)_ -sigh- and _i'm_ supposed to be the irrational one of the bunch...  
--kyra

* * *

It wasn't until the day of Easter itself that the egg hunt was mentioned again. He came into my room, something that happened rarely, and deposited a kiss on the forehead to wake me. I could tell something good was about to happen: his eyes were sparkling with boyish excitement.

"What did you do this time?" I asked, sitting up and smoothing down my hair.

He gently batted my hands aside and did the job himself, with the help of a hairbrush. I shivered slightly. I loved the feel of his hands on me, anywhere, but my hair seemed to be especially sensitive.

"You remember on the train?" he asked, still playing with my hair.

I had to think hard to go back in time. "What about it?" I asked finally.

He continued grin at me. "You wanted to go egg hunting," he prompted, running a hand from my hair down my cheek.

I laughed. "Stop it!" I told him. "If you expect me to concentrate, you're going to have to stop distracting me like that!"

He pulled his hands away, instantly contrite. With the distraction gone, I remembered the conversation on the train with much more clarity. "I remember that part, yes," I told him.

"Well, there just happens to be a church in the vicinity," he said, still grinning in delight. "And they just happen to be organizing their yearly Easter egg hunt."

I grinned back at him. "Let me guess: you 'just happened' to sign the two of us up?"

"How in the world did you guess?" he asked.

"I know you too well," I told him.

He laughed. "I'll just have to work harder to work harder then, won't I?" he said. He considered for a moment, the added, "I couldn't find one for adults, so I signed us up to work with little kids. I hope you don't mind."

I looked hard at him, a little exasperated. "Harry, I'm not going to hurt them!"

"I didn't say you would!" he said, expressing outrage at my misconception. "I was just letting you know! Next time I won't tell you anything at all! Let's see how you feel _then_!"

I laughed softly. "Stop it," I told him, reaching out and snagging his hand. "Please do tell me the plans that you make for me! I'd just rather you not look at me like I'm an ogre who's searching for lunch."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Draco. I really am. It's just, well, a lifetime of caution and feuds is a bit hard to erase in a few months. Not that I'm not trying, mind you," he amended hastily. "I'm trying as hard as I possibly can to put all of that behind us. I'm succeeding more and more, but sometimes, well… I'm sorry."

He looked so forlorn that I couldn't be angry with him. What little irritation I'd managed to work up evaporated, and I scooted closer to him and wrapped my arms around his muscular frame. "Hey," I said softly, smoothing my hands over his back. "Don't worry so much! It'll be fine, I promise. Tell you what, after we're done egg hunting, we can do something that you want to do. Anything at all. Even ride the underground, if that's what you want to do on Easter."

He finally relaxed, and his arms came around me. "I'll take you up on that," he murmured into my neck. His breath felt hot, and it caused a ripple of pleasure to course through my veins. We sat there for a long moment, each passing our strength to the other. Finally, Harry pulled away. "Get dressed," he told me. "It starts at eleven."

I glanced at the clock, which read five 'till nine. "I'm sure I'll be ready by then," I promised. "I assume that it's muggle wear?"

He nodded. "_Casual _muggle wear appropriate for being around children under the age of ten. That means that the tight jeans are out."

I pouted. "But I look damned hot in those jeans," I told him.

He laughed. "You do," he agreed. "But I'd rather not have to explain the concept of desire for another person to a group of children."

I grinned, envisioning the scene. "All right," I conceded. "But the same goes for you. No showing off your muscles, all right?"

He nodded seriously. "Got it. No talking about Quidditch, no talking about erections, anything else?"

"You could talk about breakfast," I suggested hopefully as my stomach told me forcefully that it _did not_ appreciate my choosing to sleep in. "Better yet, you could make breakfast and _then_ talk about it!"

He gave a mock salute and headed for the door. Once it had clicked shut behind him, I got up and moved to the closet. Teasing notwithstanding, I had no intention of wearing anything risqué in front of the kids. I didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions either.

Finally, I settled for a pair of looser black jeans and a black T-shirt wearing the legend, 'Come to the Dark Side,' with smaller letters adding underneath, 'We have cookies.' I'd found it in a muggle shop over Christmas and hadn't been able to resist. The picture had come, appropriately enough, on Christmas day, and I'd searched until I found the actual shirt. It was a subtle barb at my own personal dark side, one that I knew that Harry would appreciate.

Sure enough, when he looked up as I entered the kitchen, I saw his lips move slightly as he read the words, then he threw back his head in laughter. I joined him, and it was several minutes before either of us could catch our breath enough to speak. "Where did you get that shirt?" he managed finally, rereading it.

"Mark's & Spencer's, at Christmas," I told him. "It was hard to resist."

"I can imagine," he said. "You want to lend it to me when I go face Voldemort this year?"

I stiffened, and I could tell that he knew instantly that he'd said the wrong thing. "Sorry, Draco. I swear, I didn't mean that."

I felt a little sick, but whether it was anger or fear, I didn't know. "Please don't fight him this year," I whispered.

He crossed the distance between us and made me sit. This time, it was me who was being supported by his arms, and his hands which were stroking my back. "Don't worry," he promised. "I swear I won't go looking for trouble."

I made an effort to pull myself together. "It's not that that worries me," I informed him. "It's that trouble, whether you want it or not, tends to find you."

He laughed ruefully. "That is quite true," he agreed. "But let's not think about that yet, okay?"

I nodded. "Deal," I said. He held on for a moment longer, then left to take my dishes to me. We ate in silence, but it was a peaceful silence. When we'd finished, he cleared our plates and began to run the water to wash them. I stretched out on my chair, snagging his chair as a footrest.

"Mind telling me where this egg hunt is happening?" I asked, watching him skillfully rid the plates of their leftover food.

"Regent's park," he told me. "It's organized by some church or other."

"And Regent's park would be?"

"By Buckingham Palace."

"You realize that that tells me nothing at all."

He shrugged. "I know where it is. You'll see. We'll go by bus."

"Thank you."

"Anything."

He finished the dishes, then challenged me to a game of Uno to pass the time until we had to leave. I agreed, and we spent the next several hours happily penalizing each other, and heaping abuse on our hands and that of each other. Finally, he glanced at his watch. "We should go," he said, casually flipping his last card onto the pile and scooping up the pot. "I promised Reverend Pierce that we'd help set up."

"Does that mean hiding the eggs?" I asked suspiciously.

He shook his head. "Nope, it means displaying the snacks on the table in an artful manner."

"Are we supposed to provide said snacks?"

"I told him that neither of us could bake. He said not to worry about it."

I nodded. That was a relief. Though Harry was a decent cook, his baking was terrible, and I'd never used an oven in my life. I wondered idly if Kreacher could bake, but realized that I wouldn't trust anything that he made, even if he'd sworn not to poison us. He would find a loophole, and it would almost certainly be deadly.

We caught the bus and rode it up to Regent's Park. I looked out the window, still not able to accept the diversity of muggles. Wizards, though not really racist, tend to stay fairly close to their birthplace, and most of the wizards that I knew were at least European. Muggles, apparently, didn't have the same point of view, and they traveled voraciously. I saw muggles of every possible description, as well as several people hurrying past that I recognized as wizards. I hoped that none of them had seen me. I am not really a very popular person at this point.

Harry dragged me off, and set the pace at a brisk walk all the way to where a group of people were already converging in the park. They turned when they spotted us, and a short, slightly plump man hurried forward. "Harry!" he said, sounding genuinely glad. "I was worried that you wouldn't make it!"

Harry laughed. "Sorry Reverend. We were engaged in a very important game of Uno. This is my roommate Draco. Draco, this is the Reverend Pierce."

Reverend Pierce looked me over, then stuck out a hand. I shook it, noting as I did that I was actually several inches taller than he was. He gave the impression of being taller than he actually was, and I wondered if there was magic in his background. He obviously wasn't a wizard himself, or he would have reacted to my name, but maybe an ancestor…

Harry called to me, and I went over to help him wrestle with the leg of a folding table. Soon, my speculations about the Reverend Pierce's background were erased by thoughts of deepest hatred to all folding tables. Whoever had designed them might have thought that they were doing muggle-kind, but they'd been sadly mistaken. By the time we'd managed to unjam the leg and set the table upright, we'd attracted an audience. Several older women, accompanied by children of both genders ranging in age from a little boy who seemed to be about five to a tall girl who informed us that she was eleven. Harry stood and nodded cordially to the parents.

"I would shake your hands," he told them. "But they're a bit greasy at this moment." He displayed the hands in question, and several of the children laughed. My own hands were in a similar state, and I nodded to the women. They wandered off after asking a few questions (how old were we, where did we go to school… the usual questions you ask someone that you're going to leave your child with.) I let Harry handle the talking, and finally even the clingiest of the mothers left to talk with the Reverend and his helpers. Harry surveyed the kids. There were about twenty of them, and I knew that we would be splitting up. Sure enough, "All right. Get into two groups of ten. And I mean it. I am in High School, and I can count up to ten. You can pick your own groups, but if you're going to fight with someone, I'd appreciate it if you would put yourselves in different groups."

There was considerable discussion and milling around, but finally they were arranged into two herds. Harry counted them briefly, then nodded. "Congratulations. My name's Harry, and my partner here's Draco."

"That's a funny name!" one of the boys burst out.

I grinned, suddenly at ease with them. "Funny names run in the family," I told him. "I have an uncle named Scorpius." He was dead, having been killed in the first war for rebelling against the Dark Lord, but I didn't mention that part. They wouldn't understand it anyway.

Harry looked at me sharply, but didn't comment. "There are six colors of eggs to find," he informed the group. "In our infinite wisdom, Draco and I picked the colors for you. My group, we get red, yellow, and pink. Draco's group gets green, blue, and orange." He waited as there was the inevitable switching of sides. When the groups had quieted again, he continued. "We have an hour to find sixty eggs. That's thirty per group. It doesn't matter how many eggs any one person gets, because all the candy will be pooled together at the end, and everyone will get the same amount. Does anyone have anything to add?"

"How do we know if the eggs are filled with candy or birdies?" a little girl with blond hair asked. She was in his group, and many of the older children burst out laughing. She bit her lip and looked down at the ground.

"It's a valid question," I told her. "If I'm not mistaken, then our eggs are made of plastic. So you just look and see if you can see where it opens. If you can't, then it's a bird egg, and you should leave it alone. Mother birds can be vicious!"

They all nodded vigorously, and several of them went into long detailed stories about how they'd been pecked by annoyed birds, usually geese. Order was restored, and finally Harry and his group took off down one path. I shepherded my children down the other, and as we walked, began to try and learn their names. The eleven-year-old girl was Delilah, who hated her name. Her brother Austin was six, and his best friend was seven-year-old Matthew. Melanie and Derek were twins, and Sarah lived across the street from them. Carrie was in the same grade as Zack and Ben, and they stuck together. The last one, a shy nine year old, was Emily, and she didn't know anyone. They chatted loudly as we walked, occasionally uttering a squeal of delight as they discovered an egg hiding in the bushes or nestled in the grass. We crossed paths with Harry's group on several occasions, and the two of us shared grins. I was having more fun than I could ever remember having, and it wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation that I realized that everything was not perfect. A man was standing in the path in front of us, looking at me with hostile eyes. I frowned, trying to place him.

"Malfoy," he snarled, and his voice gave him away. McNair, one of my father's enemies.

"McNair," I answered, sending my kids on ahead. This would almost certainly get ugly, and I would rather they not see it.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled.

"I could ask the same of you," I answered, "but I don't think I care enough to know."

"Answer my question!"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm escorting a group of muggle children on an Easter egg hunt."

"And you're going to hang them up in the air later, are you? They're just kids, Malfoy!"

"Why do you automatically assume that I'm a Death Eater?" I burst out. I stuck my left arm out for him to see, allowing him to admire the unmarred skin. "Look, no mark! Now just get on with your walk, will you?"

"Don't talk to me like that, Malfoy!"

"I will talk to you however I want. Now get out of my way." He stepped aside, glaring at me, and I rejoined my group of children, who were clustered around a nearby bush, listening intently.

"What did he mean, hang us in the air?" Carrie burst out, after making sure that McNair was out of earshot.

I sighed, wondering how to explain Death Eaters to a group of muggle elementary school children. "It's just an expression," I told her finally. "I'm not sure what it means, but it's not a very nice thing to do."

"And you won't, will you?" Carrie insisted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Promise."

This seemed to reassure them, and soon, they were chatting as loudly as ever. I, on the other hand, couldn't regain the peace of earlier. I wanted to curse McNair as badly as I knew how for ruining what had begun as an almost perfect day. I couldn't, though, and I forced myself to pay attention to the kids that I was escorting. Austin had announced that he was tired, and everyone was buzzing around, arguing over whether to take a break or not. Austin's faction emerged victorious, and we sat down in the shade of a nearby tree. As we sat, I felt a tug on my arm. I looked down into Emily's eyes.

"Are you and Harry in love?"

The question, though it had been asked quietly, was enough to bring everyone to a dead silence. All of their eyes were fixed on me, and I gulped, wondering how to get out of this one. "We're roommates," I said, a little hesitantly. These were little churchgoing children, for Merlin's sake! What was I supposed to do if they pursued the matter? None of their parents would be happy if I corrupted their children!

"Men who love other men are abominations unto God," Sarah said primly, as though reading my thoughts.

There were nods around the circle, but Emily still looked troubled. "But what if they're _really_ in love?" she asked, hanging her head. I wondered suddenly about her family situation.

"It's not true love," Sarah told her sternly.

I could see that Emily was near tears, and knew that I had to intervene. "Hey," I said, drawing their attention back to me. "No pointing fingers, okay? Until you get older and get boyfriends and girlfriends, you won't know who you love and who you don't."

Emily looked up at me with slightly glistening eyes. "So you and Harry _are_ in love?" she asked, in a hope-filled voice.

I took a deep breath, and nodded. There was a shocked silence for a long moment.

"But that's not allowed," Sarah said finally. "You'll both go to Hell!"

I refrained from saying that homosexuality was the least of my sins, and only shrugged. "Maybe," I agreed.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Derek demanded. Melanie nodded.

"Not usually," I told him. "After all, I don't _know_ that I'll go there. Maybe God will take a liking to me and let me in on good behavior." That brought a slightly shaky laugh from the group, and gradually the tension drained. We rested for a couple more minutes, then decided to keep hunting. Emily clung to me like a bur after that, though Sarah stayed firmly away. The others didn't seem to mind too badly, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.

We returned to the group of parents at last, proudly carrying a basket filled with thirty eggs. Harry's group arrived shortly after, and I knew that he could tell from my face that something was wrong. He walked over, and asked, "What?"

"Ministry goon," I said flatly. His eyes filled with anger.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing much, just accosted me with the usual accusations. It's just a bit too coincidental to make me entirely comfortable."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, no one knows that we're here, yet there he is, walking down the same path as us."

He nodded speculatively. "True…" he said slowly.

The Reverend Pierce, who had come to tell us that the parents were coming to pick their children up, interrupted us. Harry nodded to me, and went off to greet the parents of his group of children. Sarah walked away without looking at me, which I'd expected. You can't change everyone's mind, and I supposed that I should be grateful that there weren't more like her. Still, to be so prejudiced at such a young age… I realized what I'd just thought, and almost burst out laughing. Hadn't I been just the same at her age? It was more sad than funny, if I actually thought hard about it.

I pulled my thoughts back to the present as Emily tugged on my arm yet again. She pulled me over to introduce me to her mother, Margaret. The two spoke quietly for a moment, then Margaret's eyes widened, and she shot a shocked glance at me. I sighed, and got ready to defend myself against the wrath of an overprotective Christian parent. Instead, she walked over and held out her hand. I shook it warily, and waited for her to speak.

"I just wanted to thank you," she told me quietly. "Emily isn't my biological daughter, nor my partner's, but she's been having some adjustment problems since we moved here. But then, I expect you would know about those, wouldn't you?"

I pictured my father's reaction to a hypothetical announcement that Harry and I were eloping, and agreed that, yes, we knew those problems very well.

"Will I ever see you again?" Emily asked. There was a bright hope in her eyes that I found hard to resist. I had to tell her the truth, though, and I sighed.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Harry and I have to go back to school on Monday."

She looked down. I knelt down so that my face was level with hers. "I'd like to try to see you this summer, though," I said.

Her face brightened. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yup. Tell you what. Why don't you give me your address, and I'll write myself a note to visit you."

Margaret smiled at me, and dug into her purse. She came out with a small white card, which I put into the pockets of my jeans.

"Until this summer, then," I said, standing. I grinned at the two of them, and then walked back over to where Harry was standing. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but I shook my head slightly. This was _not_ the right company in which to discuss it.

The rest of the kids left soon afterwards, and the Reverend Pierce packed us off with a tub of brownies and half a cake, saying that both of us needed feeding. We grimaced at each other, then thanked him profusely and left. Once we'd gotten out of earshot, Harry shifted the brownies so that they rested against his hip and looked at me. "What did she say to you?"

I outlined my brief conversation with Margaret and Emily, while he listened silently. When I was finished, I was half afraid that he would blow up at me for giving away the secret. But instead, he only smiled at me. "At least they didn't try to burn you as an abomination. I've heard of churches that do. Or try to exorcize the demons out."

I snorted. "Exorcise the hormones away? Believe me, there are times when that seems like a _very_ good idea!"

He laughed, and we walked along in silence for a little while longer. Then, "Are you going to go see her?"

"Who, Emily?"

"Who else?"

I frowned, thinking. "I don't know. I want to, but I don't even know where I'll be this summer."

"None of us do," he agreed. "But you'll try?"

I nodded. "I want to. I like her."

He seemed to think for a moment, then he burst out laughing. I looked at him in slight irritation. "What?"

"I was just thinking what Ron would say if he heard you say that."

I didn't think it was funny at all. I was sick of being treated like the epitome of evil, whether for my family or my house or my sexual orientation. He seemed to catch my mood, because he stopped laughing.

"Don't think about it," he told me softly. "He's miles away, they're all miles away. It's just the two of us."

"And the goon," I reminded him.

"Forget him," he advised. "He's an idiot."

"He has power."

Harry grinned. "So do we," he reminded me. "Dumbledore always says that love is the most powerful weapon we have."

I snorted. "Dumbledore, no offence intended, is a fool."

"That's what you think," he countered. "But he's brought me through some of the hardest times I could imagine. He kept me sane and mostly all right."

My mouth twisted into a slight smirk. "_Mostly_ all right? What part's missing?"

There was a beat of silence, then he said, "My common sense."

Both of us laughed then, and the conversation switched to Quidditch, oblivious to the muggles who watched us. By the time we'd reached the bus stop, we were both cheerfully abusing the Chudley Cannons, regardless of alliances of friendship. The subject of Emily and her mother wasn't brought up any more, for which I was infinitely grateful. I didn't think that I could talk about them anymore for the time being.

When we got back to the house, it was almost one o'clock. He locked the door behind us, then led me into the living room. A flick of his wand lit the fire, and we sat in two of the armchairs. I summoned two glasses of water, which we drank with relish. It was a hot day, and both of us were thirsty. As we drank the water and began to munch on the brownies, we continued our discussion on Quidditch. Finally, he swallowed the last mouthful of brownie and looked up at me. "Remember this morning, when you said that I could pick any activity I wanted?"

I nodded, wondering if he'd take me up on my invitation to ride the underground. I sincerely hoped not. True love notwithstanding, I didn't think that I could survive being dragged through there again. If Sarah and her cronies were right, and I was going to go to Hell, then I knew exactly what my own personal corner would be like. I wasn't looking forwards to it.

"What did you choose?" I asked, a little warily despite my best intentions.

"Dancing."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to go dancing with me?"

I looked at Harry in shocked disbelief. Surely I had misheard him! "What?" I managed finally.

"I _said_," he told me again, in a patient voice. "Do you want to go dancing with me?"

"Now?"

"No. Tonight. It's Easter. It's a Sunday. No one we know is anywhere even close to here."

I looked at him closely, then shrugged. "Why not? We'll need other clothes, you know."

He grinned. "We can go shopping, can't we?"

"It's not like we need the money," I conceded. "Do you have any idea what to wear?"

Harry shook his head. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"

"I suppose we will."

I still refused to set foot on the Underground, claiming that he only got one favor, so we walked the six blocks to the shopping district. We talked about random things on our way there, and I realized that I knew significantly more about Muggle London than I'd thought. When we finally arrived, the two of us stopped in amazement. I realized then that I didn't know that much about Muggle London after all. "They _need_ all of these shops?" I asked, incredulous.

Harry shrugged. "They don't have Madam Malkin to do all the fittings," he said. "It only makes sense that they would need more shops. Shall we start at the beginning?"

I shrugged my acquiescence, and we hit the first shop.

* * *

Harry quickly wandered away from Draco and began to browse the stores. He sensed immediately which were the ones made for those with more money than sense, and shied away instinctively. Leave the stores like _that_ to Draco.

He didn't know how he'd known that it would happen yet again, but he wasn't at all surprised to turn the corner of a row of pants and run smack dab into none other than Parvati Patil. Amazing, she seemed shocked to see him there. "Harry!" she exclaimed, glancing swiftly over her shoulder at the empty row behind them. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Shopping," he said, hoping that she'd just drop it. Unfortunately, her propensity to guess when other people were trying to hide things was legendary, and it didn't fail her now.

"For who?"

"For me."

She raised a pair of immaculately disbelieving eyebrows. "In _here_?! Harry, I've lived with you for five and three quarter years, remember? I know perfectly well what you wear, and it isn't anything that you could find in here."

"And why can't I decide to dress up every now and then?" he demanded, feeling oddly defensive.

She shrugged. "You could," she agreed. "But you don't."

"And how do you know?"

"I told you, I've lived with you. I know what you wear."

"My tastes could have changed."

She made a noise that, in a less attractive witch, would undoubtedly have been labeled a snort. "For your taste to have changed that drastically would be the equivalent of… say… Hermione suddenly dressing like her little sister did at the Valentine's Day ball."

Harry, remembering in vivid detail the clothes that Hermione had borrowed from her aunt and worn over Christmas, carefully refrained from saying anything.

"Who are you dressing for?" she asked, taking a step closer. "And don't you dare lie to me, Harry Potter. I know things about you that you'd rather not have spread around, and I don't shy away from little things like blackmail."

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "What do you know?" he demanded.

She only grinned. "Tell me the truth, and you will never find out."

"Parvati, what do you have against me?"

"You really want to know?"

He nodded. "You sure?"

"Just tell me!"

"All right. If you're _absolutely_ sure."

"Parvati!"

She grinned. "Fine. You wake up screaming from your nightmares at least once a month. One time, Ron stole your Firebolt for an evening, and you raged through the dormitory, swearing that Malfoy had taken it and demanded blood payment. You and Ginny Weasley almost slept together no fewer than three times, always interrupted by one of your roommates, though never her brother, thankfully. You spent ages last year writing bad poetry to Cho Chang and then blowing it up with well-placed spells. Is that enough for you?"

Harry was staring blankly at her. "Parvati… how do you _know_ all this?"

She laughed. "Harry, the Inner Eye isn't my only source of wisdom, you know."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

She only grinned. Suddenly, Harry remembered with a sickening jolt that Parvati was going out with Dean Thomas.

"I am going to _kill_ Dean," he seethed, turning away from her.

She laughed again. "Don't be mad at him," she counseled. "It's not really his fault."

"Oh?" Harry asked furiously. "Then that would make it yours?"

She didn't deny it. Instead, she propped her hands on her hips and eyed him predatorily. "You still haven't answered my question. Spill!"

He sighed, knowing that he was out of loopholes. "Parvati," he begged. "Just drop it. Please?"

She didn't. He groaned. "Just promise me that you won't tell anyone!"

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I can do that," she agreed.

"It's… I'm here with…" he trailed off, his face flaming.

She finally took pity on him. "It's Malfoy, isn't it?"

His head jerked up, staring wildly at her. "How… how did you know that?"

She laughed. "Harry, I've known for ages. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone."

"And you won't?"

"Of course not!"

He sagged with relief. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Suddenly, her grin shifted subtly, giving it a wicked glint that Harry didn't trust in the slightest. Sure enough, her next statement sent shudders trickling up his spine. "So what's it like? Being with him, I mean?"

He shook his head wildly, hoping without hope that he had mistaken her meaning. "What do you mean?" he whispered.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," she told him in amusement, crushing his feeble hopes. "Is he… good?"

Defeated, Harry nodded. She grinned. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I am going to _kill_ you, Parvati Patil," he muttered, knowing as well as she did that there was no real threat in his words.

"No you're not," she informed him brightly. "You're going to thank me."

"And why is that?" he demanded.

"Because I am going to save your wardrobe, of course."

Harry's heart sank, and he braced himself for a _very_ long afternoon.

* * *

We finally arrived at Grimmauld Place exhausted and amazed. Both of us were carrying bags of very expensive clothes, and I wondered if this was what my mother felt like when she got back from one of her shopping sprees. "Sorry I talked you into that," Harry said, collapsing into a chair.

I grinned at him, and draped myself in another one, next to his. "Don't be. It was… educational."

"Suicidal, you mean," he corrected. "I refuse to believe that there are people who do that every _day_!"

I shrugged. "Shopping addicts," I told him. "They're out there."

He laughed. "I could tell," he said. He glanced at his watch. "It would be a waste to not go out tonight," he observed. "To be fully prepared, I think I'm going to go take a nap."

"Be my guest," I said, shrugging again. "I'm going to the library."

He rolled her eyes. "You're _always_ in the library, Draco. You're starting to sound like Hermione."

"A year of being her partner in Advanced Magic had rubbed off, apparently," I said. He sighed, but didn't comment. He hugged me affectionately, then grabbed his bag and headed up the stairs. I watched him go, then took my own bag and headed towards the library.

No matter how much Harry teased me about spending my life in that room, I couldn't deny that it fascinated me. Generations of Blacks had built it up until it contained numerous volumes on just about any subject imaginable. I thought that, if I looked hard enough, I could find some that not even the Hogwarts library had. I hadn't mastered the filing system, though, and I was loath to change it. It didn't seem to be either by author or by subject, and the books appeared to be placed randomly. I was sure that there was _some _sort of system, and I was determined to master it. I hadn't had any luck yet, though and as a result, I spent most of my time looking for the books that I wanted, not reading them. I was also convinced that there were hidden sections that I had yet to discover, and I wanted to find them badly. I decided that it would make a nice weekend project, and I started systematically searching. Again. I'd gone over the library so many times that I knew it by heart, and I still hadn't found anything. I'd tried all the traditional methods: pulling the heads on the fireplace, trying all the books, tapping all the wall panels… everything I could try, but I'd had no luck. That day again, I came up empty, and it was starting to bother me. I knew my ancestors well enough to realize that just because I couldn't find anything didn't mean that it wasn't there, and this was the kind of library that _had_ to have secret rooms. There was just one thing I hadn't tried, and I really didn't want to. There didn't seem to be any choice, though, and with a sigh, I called, "Kreacher!"

With a loud crack, the disgusting House Elf appeared in front of me. He bowed ridiculously low and started to make his customary adorations, but I stopped him curtly. "Kreacher, where's the secret room in the library?"

Kreacher looked at me in surprise. "Master Malfoy has not found it? Why did Master not call upon me sooner?"

"Just tell me where it is," I said impatiently. He bowed again, and ran off to the opposite end of the room. I followed slowly, and saw him point to a particular book. It was a huge volume, and I remembered not thinking anything odd about my not being able to lift it.

"The password that the Master wants is _freedom_," Kreacher said, and his expression made it quite clear who'd set the password.

I dismissed him shortly, and looked carefully at the book. It seemed to be stuck to the bookcase, I realized, and cursed myself for not having seen it earlier. I pulled out my wand and touched it to the book. "Freedom," I said clearly. Nothing happened for a moment, and I thought that Kreacher had been wrong, but slowly, the book fell back with a grinding noise that suggested that no one had used this particular passage for a _very_ long time. The bookshelf pulled out from the wall, and revealed a twisting staircase. It's always a twisting staircase, isn't it? With a sigh, I lit my wand and started down. I waited for the grinding sound of the bookshelf closing behind me, but it didn't come. That was a relief, at least.

The stairs seemed never ending, but it was worth it. I entered a dimly lit room, and blinked owlishly for a moment before my eyes adjusted. Then I gasped in delight. Another library, much fuller and better organized than the one upstairs, awaited me. I turned off my wand, and started to walk around the shelves, pausing to look more closely at a volume once in a while. These were definitely books not found in the Hogwarts Library, not even in the Restricted section. These books were meticulously organized by subject, and then by author, and I browsed through a section that looked suspiciously like some kind of Grimoires. I pulled one out at random and flipped to the first page. _Blood, Blast, and Fire. The memoirs of Helena (Night Fire) Black._ I turned to the next page, and saw a picture of a woman, presumably Helena herself. She certainly looked like the kind of person who would write a book like this, with long black hair and a very pale, slightly pointed face. She was looking straight at me, and her eyes caught and held mine. Slowly, she smiled, and it was a smile full of danger and seduction. I turned the page quickly.

More curious than wary, I flipped to the middle of the book. It was more a diary, I realized. The chapters were dated, and they seemed to flit from subject to subject without any apparent order. Raising an eyebrow, I turned back to the beginning and began to read.

* * *

I looked up from the book when a shadow fell across it. Harry was standing over me, his eyebrows raised. When he realized that he had my attention, he demanded, "Do you have any idea how long you've been there?"

I looked around. There was no sunlight in the hidden library, and I had been completely absorbed in Helena's, or Night, as she called herself, memoirs. "No," I admitted.

"It's time for dinner. Kreacher's hiding in the attic, so we'll be able to eat peacefully."

"Did you cook anything special?" I asked, closing the book and putting it on the desk to look at later.

He grinned. "Come and find out!"

I rolled my eyes and stood. Even if my mind didn't realize how long it had been, my body had, because it seized up. Harry caught me before I could fall. "If you laugh at me," I warned, wincing as the feeling started coming back into my legs.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised, letting go. I staggered slightly, but managed to stay standing under my own power. The pins and needles sensation was already painful, and I was _not_ looking forwards to climbing back up the stairs to the normal library.

To his credit, Harry did try. He did everything humanly possible to keep from laughing, but in the end, it got the better of him. I glared when he finally let out a giggle. "It's not funny," I informed him haughtily.

He shook his head loyally, but he was grinning. I turned away from him and continued slowly up the stairs. By the time we'd reached the top, Harry had given in to his laughter, and my legs had decided that they had punished me enough. I could walk almost normally, and I didn't even hold on to anything as I made my way to the kitchen. When we reached it, the smell of the dinner that he'd made went a long way to dispelling my annoyance, and his laughter had been contained to an occasional snort of mirth.

"Are you trying to bribe me with food?" I demanded, eyeing the meal that he'd laid out.

He grinned. "Of course not. I'm only trying to soften you up."

I snorted, but didn't answer, concentrating on setting the table and eating. The meal passed in companionable silence, and I found myself wondering yet again how on Earth I'd managed to get this far with him. It still seemed impossible that he'd chosen _me_. I'd given him every reason to hate me over the years, and the fact that he was willing to forgive that never ceased to amaze me. We finished our meal in silence, and cleared the dishes. I left mine neatly stacked by the sink, which caused him to raise his eyebrows at me. I grinned, and climbed the stairs to change.

We'd decided to shop separately in the end, thinking that it would be more fun to surprise each other than to know what to expect. I'd chosen my clothes with him in mind, and as I pulled them out of the bag and spread them out on the green quilt, I wondered how he would react. With a shrug, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and stripped down to my underwear. Methodically, I pulled on the black jeans. They were rather tight, and I grinned at my reflection in the mirror. They fit me well, and I knew it. The form-fitting black T-shirt went next, and then the belt. I'd found it in one of the stores, and I couldn't help buying it. Black leather, of course, with silver studs all around it, the clasp in the form of a skull. I grinned a little cynically as I adjusted it to the proper slant. The Dark Lord would see how much I respected _him_! It was unwise, I knew, but sometimes, you need to be naïve. It helps you survive. Black leather boots completed the outfit, along with a discreet silver necklace. I looked at myself critically. To my own eyes I looked perfect, but would Harry think the same? I shook my head in annoyance, and my hair caught my attention. I frowned at it critically. I supposed that it would do, but it was starting to get on my nerves. I wondered what I would look like with the spikes that I'd seen some of the muggle boys wearing. I pulled out my wand and tried it, laughing out loud at the result. Definitely not my style. I undid the spikes and settled for leaving it loose. If it annoyed me too much, I could always charm it back.

I emerged from my room, to find Harry waiting for me. I grinned at the expression on his face. "Don't you like it, Potter?" I asked wickedly, surveying him.

He gulped, and raised his eyes to my face. "It's… well, isn't it…" he broke off, his face flaming.

I laughed, taking rather a lot of pleasure from the expression on his face. "Oh no," I assured him. "It's not."

"Oh," he said. He looked down, and made an effort to control his face. When he met my eyes again, his face had subsided to a slight reddish tinge. "I am going to be fighting for you all night, do you realize that?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Fight hard," I advised. He laughed with me, and offered me his arm. I took it with a slight bow and we walked down the stairs together. Both of us ignored Kreacher, who was frowning horribly at us.

Once out into the street, Harry set the pace, walking briskly to keep warm. Even though it was April, the air was crisp, and I was grateful for the speed of the walk. It kept us warm, and too out of breath to talk. I felt that any words we spoke would destroy the mood, and I didn't want that. Not now. We'd come so far, and I felt that this was a special turning point. This time, it was him who had asked me, not the other way around. I felt that he accepted me for who I was, not for who he thought I should be, and the thought warmed me even more than the walk.

Too soon for my tastes, the walk came to an end. Harry stopped in front of a small, rather insignificant building, and motioned me inside. "They won't ask us for identification at the door," he told me. "But you'll need some if you want to buy alcohol."

I grimaced. I have tried alcohol, just to see what it tastes like, but it was vile. I doubt that there's any chance of _me_ turning into an alcoholic! We passed through the door into a dimly lit room, full of the scents of sweat, perfume, cigarette smoke, and sticky drinks. I grinned. This was the last place Draco Malfoy would ever be found, especially not with Harry Potter. I loved it already.

The evening was an unqualified success. Both of us attracted attention, and we were offered countless dances and refreshments. People didn't seem put out by my refusal to drink, though I saw Harry sneak a few sips, and my obvious youth discouraged any lewd attempts on my person. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had so much fun, and I doubted that I would experience anything like it in the near future. For once, I was in a place where no one had ever heard of the Dark Lord, or Azkaban, or even my family. People yelled at me if I stepped on their feet, and flirted outrageously when I caught their eye. I wasn't the heir to the richest family in Britain anymore, I was just one more hot guy to target.

Around three in the morning, I found myself dancing slowly with Harry. It was the first time we'd gotten to dance together all evening, and I relaxed against his solid body. We didn't speak, but our pulses beat in synchrony, and we looked directly into each other's eyes. I saw a promise reflected in his emerald gaze, a pledge of fidelity that never needed to be spoken. When the music ended, he drew me into a long, sweet, slow kiss. There was a hush in our vicinity, and for once, Harry didn't mind being the center of attention. We finally separated, and the depth of feeling that I saw in his face made me want to melt. I smiled at him, a smile that made up for all the insults and injuries on both parts. "Always," I whispered, voicing what we'd been transmitting for the entire dance.

He nodded. "Forever," he replied. He reached over, and his lips enfolded mine once again.

* * *

author's note 2: aww, isn't that sweet? see, _this_ is why i love this chapter so much! _(I still prefer angst.) _yes, well, you like sasuke as well, so that's no indication of taste. (_Sasuke _rules_!) _whatever you say honey... -rolls eyes-  
--kyra


	20. 9: Tempest 1

_Author's note: yeah, not much to say this time, for once. sorry i didn't post yesterday: i was suffering from cumulative exhaustion, and i had a gigantor english final to do (take home, that i didn't do until the night before it was due... of course) so i did that and then crashed at about 9:30. -shakes head- i really need to take better care of myself...  
anyway, to make up for that, i am going to post TWO chapters today! be excited! BUT, in order for that to work, people need to promise that they will review BOTH chapters. 20 AND 21. -nods- otherwise i'll think twice about doing anything like this again. deal?  
Disclaimer: i have outsourced my disclaimer-writing prowess to a little girl in poland, but she hasn't written back yet, so while i wait for her letter, just paint in whichever disclaimer you would like.  
--kyra  


* * *

_

9: tempest

Pansy was just starting to relax. Draco and Potter seemed to have come to some sort of understanding, though she realized that she would probably never know the details. She and Blaise were still together, and they'd even started making plans for the summer. She wasn't failing any of her classes, and Granger had faded back to being an annoyance, nothing more. She and Millicent Bulstrode had struck up a cautious casual friendship, and Pansy was even contemplating a tentative romance for the other girl. All in all, life at Hogwarts was as calm as it had ever been. Which was, of course, why she should have been suspicious. She should have realized in her time at school that there was no such thing as calm at Hogwarts, only the calm that comes directly before a storm. And the longer the period of calm, the harder the storm would strike.

The storm struck on a Thursday morning. She was sitting between Draco and Blaise, as usual, and the three of them were discussing their summer plans. Draco had no plans yet, but Pansy suspected that he would find a way to escape the Manor. He usually did, after all, and now that no one was inhabiting it, she doubted that he would want to go back.

It was Blaise who saw the owls first. A whole army of them, each carrying a rolled newspaper. Instead of only landing by the students who were signed up to receive the newspaper, the owls dropped one at every single person's plate. Without even waiting to be paid, they took off, presumably to get the next batch of papers. Pansy unrolled her paper curiously, and her blood froze as she looked at the headline. _Mass Breakout at Azkaban Prison: Are the Dementors truly as loyal as the Ministry of Magic claims?_

Draco had unrolled his own copy, and he was staring at it. Blaise nodded to Pansy, who began to read the article out loud.

_This morning, at approximately three in the morning, wardens at the prison of Azkaban noted an unusual silence. Coming out to investigate, they saw that every single prisoner in the high security branch had vanished into thin air. This ward housed suspected Death Eaters, including the former Ministry official, Mr. Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Mrs. Narcissa (Black) Malfoy. Along with this high profile couple, a number of unnamed prisoners have escaped, as well as Rudolphus Lestrange, husband to the wanted criminal Bellatrix (Black) Lestrange._

_Ministry officials ask that people not panic, and that anyone with information about the whereabouts of the criminals would speak up._

There was more, but Pansy stopped reading. The three of them exchanged horrified glances and then, by common consent, stood and left the table. They walked purposefully towards the Slytherin common room, not speaking. When they reached it, Pansy spoke the password, and they stepped through. The common room was almost deserted, and no one stopped them as they strode towards Draco's study. He whispered his password, making sure that no one heard it, and pulled open the door. The three of them trouped in, and Draco shut and locked the door behind him. He sat down on his bed, while Pansy and Blaise took his two chairs. For a long moment, none of them spoke. Finally, Blaise said, "This will make them frantic, won't it?"

Pansy shrugged. "It'll give them something to do, at least."

Both of them turned to look at Draco. He was staring blankly in front of him, and Pansy turned to look at the pictures on his fireplace. She was still there, his mother. She looked sad and slightly forlorn, and Pansy wondered what the real Narcissa Malfoy was feeling.

"She got out," Blaise said, noting the direction of both of their gazes.

"None of them have anywhere to go but to Him," Draco said dully.

"That's not true!" Pansy said fiercely. "She's good, Draco. She's powerful, she's talented, and she's got connections. She'll have found a place to lie low until it's safe to come out again."

"They'll find her," Draco said flatly. "They always find them."

Pansy and Blaise exchanged a glance. As though he caught the meaning behind their look, he made an effort to pull himself together.

"Don't worry about me," he said, and his voice sounded almost normal. "I'll be all right."

Pansy swallowed the urge to say, 'are you sure?' and shrugged instead. "I would suggest that the three of us strengthen the wards around our rooms tonight. There might be out-of-house trouble."

Draco nodded. "Good plan," he said. "I'll see what I can get out of Potter this afternoon. That might give us a better idea of what to expect."

"Good idea," Blaise said.

Draco checked his watch. "I've got to go," he said. "For that matter, so do you."

Pansy sighed, but stood. "Ancient Runes is boring," she announced to no one in particular.

"Then why are you taking it?" Blaise demanded.

She rolled her eyes, and mimicked her mother. "You _will_ keep up with Runes, won't you Pansy? You _know_ that they'll be _so_ useful later in life, and you did so _well_!"

Blaise laughed, and Draco smiled slightly. Under the circumstances, Pansy was prepared to accept that as a huge roar of mirth.

* * *

Pansy hadn't been lying when she said that Ancient Runes was boring, but her main problem with the class was the presence of the Gryffindor prodigy Hermione Granger. Pansy hated Granger, and she wanted so badly to wipe that confident grin off her face. But she never could. No matter what Pansy did, Granger always had the answers, and always had the highest score in the class. It was enough to drive a normal girl to distraction.

Pansy arrived at the Ancient Runes classroom with two minutes to spare. She ignored the way the room went silent when she entered, and dropped her books loudly on her desk. She sat and pointedly didn't say anything, and gradually, the conversation returned to the classroom. Professor Fraser arrived just as the hour struck, and he looked at all of them sternly. "Though I realize that there was an… interesting piece of news this morning, I do not expect that to interfere with your work. We are here to learn, not to gossip."

Everyone nodded, and some of the gossipers looked slightly ashamed. Some of them, though, merely looked put out. Professor Fraser handed back the homework, then waited for everyone to absorb their scores. Pansy looked at hers. A. She sighed. Granger had certainly gotten an O, and she probably couldn't wait to gloat about it. When all of them had finished reading and comparing grades, Professor Fraser assigned the partners for the day. Pansy groaned when she saw who she was stuck with. It just had to be Granger, didn't it? Of course it did. Fate was so often kind to Pansy, after all.

One of the most infuriating things about Granger was her complete inability to understand that Pansy hated her. She persisted in thinking that the two of them merely didn't get along, and she would say the most inappropriate things. But that day, Pansy was almost grateful to Granger. Alone out of anyone in the class, Granger could be counted upon to concentrate with a single-minded ferocity on the task at hand and not gossip about what had been in the paper that morning. Pansy allowed herself to be drawn into Granger's academic obsession, and when the hour finally ended, Pansy was shocked to realize that, not only had she understood all of the passages, but that she had even enjoyed the experience. It was surprisingly soothing to be with someone who could care less about you unless you knew the answer, and she saw for the first time what Draco saw in her. Not that Pansy would ever admit that, of course.

She gathered up her books and stuffed the parchment littered with half drawn runes into her bag. She finally stood, almost loath for the session to be over. Then she caught herself. This was Hermione Bloody Granger in front of her, the know-it-all who had tormented her all through her school career. It was highly inappropriate to be wanting to spend time with the girl, and Pansy stalked off without another word. Granger didn't even seem to notice.

* * *

"That's right, Harry," Hagrid said encouragingly, as Harry tried to get Serenity to eat the magical supplement that all the Crups were due. "Jus' get 'er to like it. Then, she won't be any trouble."

"It's the first part that's the problem," Harry admitted. "She hates the stuff."

Hagrid grinned. "She'll come around," he promised. Harry shrugged, and turned to help Lavender.

Harry looked at Serenity, and propped his hands on his hips. "Just eat it, will you?" he asked.

Serenity barked shortly, and pointedly turned away from the supplement. Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, I promise that it's only this once," he said. He'd long ago gotten over his embarrassment about talking to the animal, and he now found immense comfort in her silent gaze. There were times when you really needed someone who didn't say a word.

The bell rang, sounding the end of class. Harry looked at Serenity in exasperation. "Hagrid, will you make sure she eats it, please?"

Hagrid nodded. "Sure thing, Harry. I'll see that she grows to love the stuff!"

"Not too much," Harry laughed. "Otherwise, she'll be insufferable all summer!"

Hagrid's booming laugh followed Harry up the grounds to the castle. He ran as fast as he dared, slowing down just in time to give a gasped hello to Ron and Hermione, and rush into class. He had barely taken a seat when Professor McGonagall started. She looked sharply at him, but didn't say anything. Harry caught his breath while she explained that day's exercise: transfiguring a doll into a baby. Several of the girls looked horrified at the thought, but no one commented, and McGonagall passed out the cabbage patch contraptions that were supposed to be dolls. As usual, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were able to converse under the sound of the class, this time the cries of babies and the companionate murmurs of the other girls.

"How are the Slytherins taking the news of the escape?" Harry asked, frowning as he tried to change his doll's limp features.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Professor Fraser paired me with Pansy Parkinson, but we didn't talk about anything." She grimaced. "We never do, after all."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. "You want to make friends with her _too_?" he asked in an accusatory tone of voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and flicked her wand. Her doll changed into a small, quite cute baby girl. Hermione looked at her compassionately, then silenced her raucous cries and changed her quickly back into a doll. "No, Ron. I have no desire to be friends with the Queen of Slytherin. She sickens me."

Ron looked relieved. Harry knew that they still weren't completely comfortable with each other, and Slytherin was still a touchy subject. He hoped that they would make up completely before the end of the year, but he accepted that it was a miracle that they were back to talking to each other. "It was all anyone could talk about in Care," Harry told them, trying to alleviate some of the tension that had crept into the silence. "Hagrid actually had to be firm with a lot of the students. He says that the Crups pick up on our mood."

Hermione grinned, like she always did when Harry talked about the Crups. "And how's Serenity?" she asked.

Harry grimaced, and related his misadventures with the dog. He had both of them laughing by then end. He glanced down at his supremely ugly doll, and flicked his wand. It _did_ change into something living, but it was just a baby as ugly as the doll had been. He scowled at it, and silenced it quickly. Hermione frowned at his attempt, but didn't comment. Ron too had managed to create some sort of life and, though his baby seemed to be almost normal looking, its hair was looked suspiciously like yarn. McGonagall came over to them. She raised an eyebrow at Hermione's doll.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Ganger?" she asked.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Professor. I just don't feel right about this."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose even farther. "Why is that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione met Professor McGonagall's eyes. "It feels like we're playing God, Professor."

Professor McGonagall sniffed. "Miss Granger, I assure you that we are not, as you put it, Playing God. We are practicing on inanimate objects. If you are so opposed to practicing on human subjects, I would ask you why you apparently have no problems with testing on animals."

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again. Professor McGonagall sniffed again. "I shall take it as red that you can perform the transformation, Miss Granger, but I would advise you to fully analyze your humane instincts before you complain about my teaching methods again."

She swept away, leaving Hermione staring after her. Ron grinned. "I love it when she does that," he confided to Harry. "She sound so much like my mum, it's like listening to her shout at Fred and George."

Harry grinned, but Hermione scowled. "Fully analyze my humane instincts," she muttered darkly. Ron and Harry exchanged a glance, and didn't try to bring her into their conversation, leaving her to scowl at her unmoving doll. They began to talk about Quidditch, and by the time the class was over, Harry had almost forgotten Hermione's bad mood. She stomped out of the classroom without saying a word, and Ron sighed to Harry.

"There go my History of Magic notes," he said sadly. Harry laughed.

"She'll get over it," he promised. "Be very nice to her today."

"I'll try," Ron agreed. His face took on a calculating look. "Maybe I'll wear the spew badge. That might cheer her up."

Harry laughed. "Go for it," he advised. They both saw McGonagall looking at them narrowly, and Ron hurriedly gathered up his things and left the classroom. McGonagall left after him, locking the door behind her.

Harry and Draco were left alone together once again. Draco checked the windows for watchers, then moved to sit next to Harry. "What was wrong with Granger?" he asked.

Harry explained in detail, including McGonagall's response. By the time he was done, both of them were laughing. "Do you think she'll think about it?"

Harry shrugged. "With Hermione, you never know," he said. "I doubt she'll complain in class any more, though."

"By the way, what the hell's _spew_?"

By the time Harry had finished explaining about that, both boys were laughing hysterically again. "She just doesn't get it, does she?" Draco managed finally.

"She does and she doesn't," Harry said, considering. "In a lot of things, she gets it a lot more than most wizards. If it were human servants instead of House Elves, she'd be perfectly right. She sees them as humans, though, which is her problem."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"

Harry grimaced. "When you've spent enough time in Dobby's company, you realize it pretty quickly."

Draco nodded, but his face clouded slightly. Recognizing the danger signs, Harry rapidly fished through his brain for another conversation topic. "What about Goblins?" he asked randomly. "Should we treat them as equals or not?'

Draco looked at him pityingly. "Harry, Goblins are subservient life forms who aren't even on the same evolutionary level as we are."

Harry felt his eyebrows rise. Draco was usually careful to hide his more extreme views from Harry, but every so often he would slip and let out something like that. "Are they really subservient?" Harry asked. "They're smart, and talented. Why do we let them handle money and jewels if they aren't equal to us?"

"They're good at what they do," Draco conceded. "But that's all they're good at. Their magic isn't strong enough to require a wand, and they know only gold and figures."

"Have we ever tried to give them a wand?" Harry asked. "I would think that their power is stronger than ours, if it doesn't need a wand."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry," he said patiently. "Goblins can do very simple magic, like House Elves. But they can't do any of the higher spells and charms that we can. About as far as a Goblin can get is a simple levitation charm."

"Without a wand," Harry reminded him. "Can you do a levitation charm without a wand?"

Draco shrugged. "That's not the point," he said. "The point is that I can do more than that with a wand. There's no point in having power if it's so highly specialized that you can only use it to do a few things."

"But they do those few things really well," Harry argued. "It's like Quidditch. The Seekers look for the Snitch, not the Quaffle. The Keeper doesn't hit the bludgers, and the Beaters could care less about the Snitch. All of them are equally important, though."

Draco sighed. "I'm not going to convince you, am I?" he asked.

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "But we could keep arguing."

Draco grinned in such a seductive manner that Harry's breath caught. "Or we could talk about… other things," he suggested.

Harry had to swallow before he could answer. "We could," he agreed hoarsely.

* * *

Minerva didn't care what Albus said. With the prisoners gone from Azkaban, she had no choice but to separate the two boys. She'd watched them off and on ever since October, and she didn't like what she saw at all. She saw Mr. Potter willing to give up a brilliant future for Mr. Malfoy, and she saw him being drawn deeper and deeper into a situation that he couldn't get out of alone. She knew that it was harder to fall out of love than it was to fall into it, and she didn't want to see Mr. Potter leaving the path that he was destined to walk for a boy who was almost certainly not worth it.

She was frustrated, though. She couldn't think of a way to separate the two of them without being obvious about it. They were doing a very good job of hiding their involvement with each other, and she had to admit a grudging admiration for both boys' acting skills. She knew how hard it was to pretend to hate someone you loved. But that wasn't the point. The point was that, no matter how well they hid it, those two were walking into trouble. She told herself that she was saving them from themselves, and ignored the voice in her head that sounded so much like Albus.

The most obvious way she could see was to end the detentions together. That would give them no time alone together, and she hoped that it would be enough. If not, then, well, she would just have to think of something else. She carefully didn't think about what Albus would say. She was her own person, after all, and she was the one who'd assigned the detention. She could end it any time she wanted. Yes, that was what she would do.

She stood and shook her robes into line. Then, she strode out of her office and towards the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady didn't ask her for the password, clearly recognizing Minerva's mood, and only swung open silently. Minerva stepped through the hole and looked around the room for Mr. Potter. She didn't see him, but Miss Granger was curled up in the corner with a book. Minerva walked over to her, and Miss Granger looked up in surprise. She carefully slipped a leather bookmark into the book and said, "Did you want something, Professor?"

Minerva nodded curtly. "Do you know where Mr. Potter could be found, Miss Granger?"

Miss Granger frowned. "I think he and Ron are at the Quidditch pitch," she said slowly. "They said something about needing to make up lost time."

Minerva nodded. "Thank you, Miss Granger," she said. Miss Granger nodded back, and pulled the bookmark out of the book, instantly becoming reabsorbed in the mysteries of the words. Curious, Minerva glanced at the title. _Mixing Magic and Music: the Memoirs of George Harrison_. She shook her head. Miss Granger had the oddest tastes.

She stepped back through the portrait hole and headed down to the Quidditch pitch. As promised, both Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were there. Both were in the air. Mr. Potter was helping Mr. Weasley improve on his Keeper skills, and Minerva had to admit that the red haired teenager preformed better without hundreds of screaming (or jeering) children. She waited until Mr. Potter had caught Mr. Weasley's rebound, then amplified her voice. "MR. POTTER!"

The two boys looked down, then back at each other. They dived down, Mr. Potter much more steeply than Mr. Weasley and landed on the grass a little ways away from Minerva. She ended the amplifying spell, and looked at him. "I apologize for interrupting your practice session," she said, a little stiffly. "I wish you to come to my office in half an hour, Mr. Potter. I shall see you then."

She turned and walked away, hearing the two begin to mutter as she left. 'One down,' she thought. That left Mr. Malfoy. She wondered where she would find him.

Thankfully, he was in the library. She delivered her message to him as well, then retreated to her office to plan what she would say. It would have to be for some other reason than because she wanted to separate them, after all. When the inevitable nock came at her door, she was as ready as she would ever be, and she called for them to enter. It was Mr. Potter. "You wanted to speak to me, Professor?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

She nodded, but before she could say anything, the door opened, and Mr. Malfoy stepped in. The two boys glared at each other, but Minerva, knowing what she did about their relationship, thought that she could detect a kind of unspoken message. It disturbed her greatly. It was the kind of thing that married couples did, not teenage boys. "Sit down," she told both boys. They did so, not saying anything. She sighed, looking them over. Now that she actually saw them in person, her resolve faltered slightly. But they were here, and waiting for her to say something, so she had to go through with it.

"At the beginning of the year," she said, and their entire attention snapped towards her. "I put you in detention to learn how to tolerate each other. Obviously, you have learned to do this. Therefore, I see no reason for the detentions to continue."

She watched both of them carefully for a reaction. It was slight, but it was there. A small start, and an almost imperceptible glance towards each other. In a moment, both boys had regained their control. Neither said anything, but it was obvious that both wanted to leave. She nodded to them. "You may share the good news with your friends," she said. They both stood up almost simultaneously. Neither of them looked either at her or at each other, but yet again, Minerva thought that she could sense the unspoken communication. She breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Potter shut the door behind him. She waited for the summons from Albus, certain that they would come.

Sure enough, five minutes later, the white haired wizard stepped through her fire. He looked at her sadly. "Minerva," he said quietly. "What have you done?"

She frowned. "I've ended their detentions, Albus. They don't need them anymore."

"Don't they?"

"I assigned those detentions for a reason, Albus," she said tartly. "That goal has been achieved, so there is no point in continuing with the exercise."

Albus continued to look at her sadly. "If you truly feel that way," he said. He turned to go. Suddenly, he stopped. "Minerva," he said, looking back at her. "Keep an eye on Harry, will you? It's close to time for his yearly bout with Voldemort." Then, with a swish of purple robes and a pinch of floo powder, Albus Dumbledore was gone.

* * *

Harry should have known that it was too good to last. After all, when had life ever been kind to him? When had anyone who'd been important, anyone who'd _mattered_ been able to stay? Sure, Ron and Hermione were wonderful, but it was a different kind of mattering. They were his friends. He would risk his life for them, and he hoped that they would do the same for him. But there were lots of people like that. Harry would risk his life cheerfully for any of the Weasleys, and most of the Order. There were only a few for whom he was willing to risk his sanity. The last of those people was walking moodily behind him. Suddenly, Harry couldn't bear it any longer. He didn't care if their act was ruined, or if they were expelled. He had to find a way to stay with Draco. He stopped. Draco was about to stalk past him, but Harry shook his head. "Wait," he said quietly. Draco stopped, looking back at him curiously. They didn't usually communicate in the hallways. Harry lowered his voice. "We can't let her drive us apart," he said intensely.

Draco checked the hallway for watching people, then said, "No. We'll find a way."

Harry bit his lip, trying to think up a plan on short notice. "We could always just try to jinx each other into oblivion again," he suggested, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We could _force_ her to put us back in detention."

Draco shook his head darkly. "She knows," he said. "It's obvious. Somehow, she knows, and she's going out of her way to separate us."

"But how…" Harry stopped as the thought hit both of them at the same time. "She didn't! She couldn't have!"

"She did, Potter," Draco snapped. "You'd better get used to the idea. She's been spying on us, probably from the very beginning."

Harry groaned, and closed his eyes in despair. He could only imagine what McGonagall had seen. He racked his brain, trying to think of what she might have seen. Admittedly, there was a lot to be scandalized about.

Suddenly, Draco started. Footsteps were coming down the hall. Harry tried to pull a sneer onto his face, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead, he started to walk away. Draco grabbed his sleeve and hissed, "Meet me in the Room, as soon after dinner as you can."

Harry didn't have time to nod, because the imposing figure of Professor Snape turned the corner. "Mr. Potter," he said sharply. "Remove your hands from Mr. Malfoy instantly!" Harry stiffened at the injustice, but didn't say anything.

Malfoy let go of Harry, glowering fiercely at him. "We'll settle this later, Potter," he snarled, then turned and strode angrily out and around the corner that Snape had just turned. Harry turned as well, but Snape stopped him.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," he said. "And if I ever see you setting hands on a fellow student again, it will be one hundred."

"Yes, sir," Harry ground out. "May I go now, sir?" Snape didn't answer, and Harry took that as an invitation to get the hell out of Snape's way.

Back in the dormitory, Harry threw his books down on his bed. He sat down next to them, looking at his watch. There were still two hours until dinner. The door opened again, and Hermione walked in. He looked at her in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Looking for you, of course."

"You've obviously found me. What did you want?"

"I heard what McGonagall said."

He rounded on her, relieved to have a target for his anger. "You too? Does the entire _school_ make it a habit to eavesdrop on my every conversation? Is spying on Harry the unofficial sport of Hogwarts? I thought that you respected me enough to leave me my privacy!"

She looked afraid. "I didn't actually hear it personally," she protested.

"So you're gossiping about me! Tell me how that's better!" It felt good to shout at someone, to take his anger out on an unresisting target. He ignored the guilt he felt about using her like that, ignored the hurt look on her face. "Listen to me, Hermione! I don't appreciate it at all! If you're going to be gossiping and listening to rumors, why don't you change your name to Parvati? Maybe the two of you would get along better than you thought!"

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but he cut her off ruthlessly. "It's no wonder we're the only friends that you have! Everyone else has been scared off! Did you think that I was any different? I'm human too, Hermione! I'm Harry, not the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived. _Harry!_ And I have feelings, just like you. So just stay out of my way, do you understand? Stay _out_ of my way!"

He didn't see her run out of the dormitory almost in tears.

* * *

Harry stepped through the door to the Room on Requirement, hoping that he was the first one there. He needed time to get his emotions under control before he talked at Draco. He doubted that his friend would be impressed by the way he'd treated Hermione, and as reason returned, he knew that he would have to do some very serious apologizing to her. Not yet, though. She probably wouldn't want to hear his apology yet. Harry sat down in the chair by the fire, smiling a little sadly at the white leather. So the Room thought that he was pure, did it? He wondered how to tell it that it was wrong.

The door opened again, and Draco strode in. He stopped when he saw Harry, and Harry knew instinctively that Draco had had a similar confrontation, probably with Pansy. He also knew that neither of them would ever talk about it. It wasn't the kind of thing you talked about, even to your best friend. Draco moved over and sat down in a matching white chair next to Harry's. They didn't say anything for a long moment, content to look at each other. Finally, Harry said quietly, "How often can we do this?"

Draco sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "Not often enough."

There was another long silence. Then, Draco said, "Harry."

"Yes?"

"We have to keep seeing each other. It's… too important to be stopped by _her_."

Harry nodded. "Of course. But how? People will notice if we keep sneaking out."

"We could get into detention again," Draco suggested hopefully.

Harry considered it, but shook his head sadly. "Ten to one she's told all the other teachers," he said, trying his hardest not to make it come out bitter. "They won't give us detention together."

"I suppose not." They were quiet once again, and then Draco jumped out of his chair and began to stride angrily around the small room. "_Damn_ her!" he shouted. "Why did she have to do this to us? Don't we have enough problems?" He looked at Harry for an answer, but Harry merely shook his head helplessly. He'd asked himself all the same questions, and no one had answered him either. Draco continued pacing, and then dropped back into his chair. Harry could see the tears running down his face. "Don't we have enough problems?" he whispered again.

Harry moved over and placed his chair next to Draco's. He reached over and touched the other boy's arm. "We'll figure something out, Draco," he swore. "I _won't_ give up!"

Draco laughed, making no attempt to hide the bitterness. "Won't you?" he asked. "How important am _I_ in the scheme of things, Harry? More important that the Dark Lord? More important that the High and Mighty Dumbledore? More important that Weasley and Granger? Can you promise me that you won't forget?"

Harry was shocked to hear those words coming out of Draco's mouth. Until that moment, Harry hadn't realized just how insecure Draco was about them. Harry himself had accepted that Draco would be there for him, but as Draco's doubts poured out, Harry began to feel unsure himself. _Would_ he forget Draco? A moment ago, he could have sworn under Veritaserum that he would never forget, but now… That wasn't what Draco needed to hear, though.

"You're the most important thing in my life," Harry told Draco solemnly, and in that moment, it was the honest truth.

Draco's hand reached out and blindly clutched Harry's. Harry squeezed Draco's hand reassuringly. The blond boy's tears flowed freely now, and Harry's other arm wove itself over his shoulders and hugged him closely. Draco leaned in towards the source of comfort, and cried once again on Harry's shoulder. Harry was forcibly reminded of the only other time that Draco had cried in his presence. He was touched that Draco thought him as important as his mother. But his doubts began to creep back in. Did he deserve Draco's love? Was he good enough for him? Harry didn't know, and he hated not being sure. For as long as he could remember, he'd been sure if people liked or hated him, and sure of his own responses, and now the insecurities unsettled him.

"You are better than I am," Draco told him firmly, his head coming up slightly from Harry's shoulder.

"How do you know?" Harry demanded, shifting so that he could look directly into those sharp gray eyes.

Draco smiled slightly. It was tinged with sadness and… _despair_? It was still a smile, though, and Harry felt an answering smile come to his own lips. "You're so beautiful," Draco said simply.

Harry shook his head slightly, but Draco stopped him. "Harry, I love you. I won't forget you, even if you forget me." Once again, Harry started to speak, but Draco held up a hand, and Harry felt silent again. "You are the strongest person I know, Harry," Draco whispered. "That's a lot to live up to."

"You have no idea," Harry agreed, thinking of how he was always expected to be perfect and know all the answers. There were times when being famous was more than he could handle. He wasn't strong, though. Draco was wrong about that. "Draco, how can you say that? What I've done, I've done through help, luck, and blind terror. But you… you faced down _people_, people who could have been your friends. You stuck it out and kept going. Do you know how much I envy you because of that?"

Draco laughed a little. "You've done the same," he reminded Harry. His eyes looked into Harry's with such intensity that Harry had to look away.

"I don't deserve someone like you," he whispered. "There's blood on my hands."

Draco shook his head firmly. "No more than on anyone else's, Harry," he said quietly. He let go of Harry's hand and hugged him in return. After a moment, Harry allowed his own arms to come around Draco's and his own tears of loss and bitterness to flow. Draco's eyes had dried, and he held Harry tightly until Harry's tears had abated.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, not letting go.

Draco didn't let go either. "My pleasure," he answered.

They sat together, and eventually drifted off into sleep. When they woke, they didn't speak, but both knew that they would come back.

* * *

Ron didn't know how he would ever tell Harry. He still hadn't quite forgiven the other boy for saying those things to Hermione. He knew that Harry had some sort of secret, but he had no idea what it could be. No, that was a lie. Ron couldn't bring himself to give any credibility to the theory that he had, and even went so far as to accuse himself of over thinking the situation, something that he rarely did. Harry was probably just preoccupied with You-know-who. Ron had spent enough ends of the year with Harry to know that that was usually what was wrong with him this time of year. Though, now that Ron thought about it, Harry had hardly mentioned You-know-who this year. He frowned, trying to remember. There had been the time when Malfoy's mother had been sent to Azkaban, but nothing after that.

Ron stood and began to pace restlessly. Harry had said that he would meet him at three o'clock, and there were five minutes until then. It was unusual for Ron to be early, but this time, he couldn't have stayed in Gryffindor Tower if someone had paid him. Well, actually, that depended on how _much_ they were willing to pay, but that didn't matter. No one had offered, and Ron had basically run away from the source of his problems.

Harry crossed through the courtyard and looked curiously at Ron. Ron only shook his head, and led Harry out of the main area and into a more secluded area. He'd discovered it during one of the many times he'd used the map to look for Harry. He didn't feel guilty about those times, though he knew that Harry would be furious if he found out. Ron had no intention of ever letting Harry find out, and every intention of continuing to use the map. There were things that you just had to do without telling anyone.

They crossed into the hidden area, and Ron closed the door behind them. He looked anywhere but at Harry while his friend sat down and dropped his things.

"Ron?" Harry asked finally, when Ron didn't say anything.

Ron took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He still couldn't bring himself to say the words. Harry seemed to understand, because he moved over to allow Ron a place to sit. Ron didn't take it. He needed to be standing, needed somewhere to look that wasn't straight at Harry. He fidgeted, trying to work up the nerve to open his mouth. Once he got started, he suspected that he would be able to get the rest of the words out with a minimum of difficulty. But he couldn't make himself start.

Harry, not the most patient of people in the world, finally said, "Just spit it out!"

Ron glared at him.

Harry sighed. "Is it about Hermione?"

Ron gasped, and he felt his face begin to flame. "How… how did you know?" he managed.

Harry shrugged. Ron could see the smile tugging at the corner of Harry's mouth. "I know exactly how you feel," he admitted.

Ron frowned. He wished Harry would just tell him who it was! "Harry…" he began.

Harry held up a hand, shaking his head. "Don't," he said quietly.

"Why not?"

"Just… don't. Please."

Ron sighed. Why did Harry expect him to reveal the details if Harry himself wouldn't? "Do I know her, at least?" Ron demanded.

Harry nodded.

"So she goes here."

He nodded again. "But you didn't come here to talk about me, did you?" he asked. "Because if you did, I'm leaving."

Ron slumped. It was so much easier to talk about Harry. Harry's love life appeared to be making some sense. He had a girlfriend that he loved, and she seemed to love him back. He knew that, and life was easy. With Ron, it was all so much harder and so much more confusing.

"Look," Harry said suddenly. "You want advice, right?"

Ron nodded. Harry smiled slightly. "Admit it to her. If she likes you, then you'll have saved yourself time and misery. If she doesn't, well you'll have saved time at least."

Ron stared at him. "Are you _mental_," he demanded. "You want me to go up to her and say, 'Um, Hermione? I'm not sure if I love you or not, but I'm asking you if you love me, and if you do, will you be my girlfriend?'"

Harry nodded. "I am," he said. "Though I'd say it in a letter myself."

Ron frowned, turning the idea over in his head. "Will you write it for me?" he asked.

"Me?!" Harry demanded. "Not a chance! I'll deliver it, though."

Ron sighed. "Do I have to?" He sounded like a child, he knew, but he couldn't quite help it. What Harry was telling him to do sounded both risky and potentially mortifying. Still, did he really have an alternative?

Harry shrugged. "No," he said. "But I would, if I were you."

"Well, how did you do it with Ginny?" Ron asked.

Harry grinned. "She asked me if I liked her. I said I did. She asked if I liked her enough to go out with her. I said that I did. It took me five minutes to realize what I was supposed to have done. I ran after her and asked her out. She said yes, and that was that."

"And with… whoever you're with now?"

His grin changed ever so slightly. Ron couldn't see the change happening, but the smile on his friend's lips was suddenly softer, almost truer. If Ron had had any doubts about whether Harry loved this new girl, they were erased with that smile.

"She wrote me a letter," Harry said quietly. "I said yes the next day."

"And that's why you're telling me to write to her, not just snog her silly?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Are you suggesting that I snogged Ginny silly when I asked her out?" Harry demanded.

Ron grinned. "I know you did," he said. "Or rather, I know that she snogged _you_. I've lived with her for her entire life, remember? I know what she's like."

Harry grimaced, but didn't answer.

"So you'll give it to her?" Ron asked, effectively committing himself.

Harry nodded. "I'll even proofread it for you, if you want," he offered.

"Thanks." Ron sighed and looked at his watch. "We should go in. It's almost four, and Neville said he'd help me with Herbology."

Harry nodded, and they both stood to leave. "Give it to me when you're done with it," Harry said.

Ron nodded back, and they exited the garden, Ron heading for the castle and Harry wandering out to sit by the lake.

* * *

I still wasn't sure how I was handling the news of my parents' escape from prison. There were times when I was convinced that it was for the best, and at those times, I could show my face in the common room and allow the world to see that I was still around. But there were days when I couldn't take it anymore, days when I was convinced that they were dead, and that the Dark Lord would come after me as well. On those nights, I didn't sleep, shutting myself in my study and allowing myself to drown in tears. It was October all over again, and I was rapidly growing frustrated with myself. What was _wrong_ with me? Why couldn't I just be a normal person and not break down about people I didn't really even care that much about?

Once again, Harry and Pansy joined forces (though they didn't realize it) to keep me sane and healthy. Or at least, as much as they could. Pansy tried to force me to eat and sleep, while Harry was there for moral support. I didn't want him to know just how messed up I was, and when I was with him, I found it easier to wear the mask of being fine. He didn't seem to suspect that anything was wrong, though she did, and neither of them pressed me for details. I was grateful for that, grateful that they didn't try and tear my mask down. It had been hard enough to put it up in the first place, and I didn't think that it could withstand close scrutiny.

Harry passed me a note in potions, inviting me to the Room with him that night. I nodded my acquiescence, and he left without a word. I gathered up my things carefully, and left the classroom under the scrutiny of Professor Snape. In the past, he'd shown an uncanny ability to see through my masks, and I didn't want him to pull this one down. It wouldn't do for Harry to see me breaking down yet again. He was surely tired of holding me up.

I knocked on the door to the Room, standing back so that he could open it and let me in. He closed it behind me, and looked me over. I don't know what he saw, because his expression didn't change, but he led me to a chair and made me sit down. We'd come from dinner, though I hadn't been hungry, and there was no food provided. Instead, we talked. That was one of the things that I missed most about the detentions together: the opportunity to just talk about anything that crossed our minds. We went down so many conversational paths that, by the time the clock gently chimed eleven o'clock, we were miles away from where we'd started.

I felt oddly light-headed, as though something had taken possession of my mind, and I wanted nothing more than to slip into sleep. I kept my eyes open for his sake, though, and managed to get through several more minutes of rambling. Finally, though, he noticed my exhaustion. A supremely guilty look crossed his face.

"God, Draco! It's getting late. We should go to bed."

I certainly wasn't adverse to that, and we pulled open a door that had conveniently appeared in the wall. Another room, this one furnished with a set of twin beds, awaited us, and we quickly changed into the supplied pajamas and slipped into bed. I was inordinately cold, and huddled under a pile of blankets, shivering. While I'd been exhausted only moments before, I now found myself completely awake and unable to close my eyes. I couldn't contemplate moving, and I had no energy, but I couldn't actually fall asleep. With a tremendous effort, I turned over and looked at Harry. He certainly appeared to be sleeping, and I watched him for a long moment, marveling at the rise and fall of his perfectly sculpted chest. His hair tumbled over his face, obscuring both his scar and his eyes. As I watched, he shifted in his sleep, throwing a lock back to reveal the scar in question. I'd touched it, had felt the slightly raised bump, but there was something magical about it in the early night moon. It shimmered sliver, almost as though it were giving off a light of its own. I wanted to touch it, but couldn't work up the energy to get up. I was still cold, and I pushed myself deeper into the bed, wishing that there were more blankets. I closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep. I knew that I should be tired, knew that I needed to sleep, but it wouldn't come. Finally, I drifted off, falling into an odd dream that I forgot even as I dreamt it. Harry featured prominently, I know, as did Pansy and a girl that I'd never seen before but knew instinctively was called Abigail. We were somewhere that I knew, but couldn't place, eating some kind of food. More than that I couldn't say, but it was a good dream.

I woke a few hours later, burning. I pushed back the covers, and grabbed a pillow to muffle the racking coughs that were shaking my body. Harry needed his sleep much more than I did, and it wouldn't do to wake him for something as stupid as a cough. It didn't occur to me that he might want to be woken.

* * *

author's note 2: oh, and for the record? i don't approve at ALL of harry's compulsive need to lie about his relationship. i really, REALLY want to smack some sense into him. but tamara insists that we stay in character, so that's how it is...  
--kyra


	21. 9: tempest 2

_Author's note: okay, so we have officially 3 reviews for chapter 20. we're trusting you to review both chapters if we give you this one too. -nods- (we're hoping this story will end up having more reviews than Like a Spring Flower. you're almost there, people! keep it up!)  
Disclaimer: despite the fact that this is the longest story we've ever written, it's still shorter than Order of the Phoenix. that's our goal. just keep it shorter than jk rowling's work. (i.e. we're not her!)  
--kyra

* * *

_

Harry woke in the middle of the night to the sound of gasping coughs. Frowning, he looked over at Draco. The blond haired boy was doubled over in his bed, hacking into a pillow. He didn't notice Harry slipping out of bed, totally concentrated on muffling the noise he was making. Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. It was burning hot, and Harry wondered just how long Draco had refrained from mentioning that he wasn't well. A good long time, from the feel of it. Draco started, and turned to look wildly at Harry, his face red from fever and coughing.

"Hey," Harry said softly. "What's wrong?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing," he mumbled.

Harry looked at him, and raised his eyebrows. He placed his hand on Draco's forehead, using the other to support the other boy as he started coughing again. Draco finally gasped for breath, and looked at Harry in defeat.

"Don't take me to the hospital wing," he said faintly. "I'm not that sick."

Harry shrugged, and sat down next to Draco. "Then let me take care of you."

Draco blinked, and the ghost of a smile passed across his flushed face. "If you insist."

Harry took his hand away from Draco's forehead, and held it out, closing his eyes. A bowl of liquid appeared in it at his silent command, and he turned back to Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Chicken soup to cure all ills?" he asked cynically.

Harry shrugged. "It works," he said. "Eat."

Draco sighed, but dutifully took the bowl from Harry and began to consume the boiling liquid. He had to stop several times to allow coughing fits to pass, but Harry was there to support him, and he always took the bowl back when he could breathe again. When the soup was finally gone, Harry set the bowl on the bedside table, snagging his glasses as he did so. Through his newly improved vision, Draco looked even worse. Apart from the fever flush, there were dark rings around his eyes, which seemed to have taken over half of his face. His body trembled very slightly, and Harry could see that he'd lost weight. Why hadn't he noticed before? He silently berated himself for not being a better friend. A real friend would have noticed that something was wrong!

"It's not your fault," Draco told him softly, placing a hot hand on Harry's leg. "I didn't want you to know."

"I feel like I don't deserve you," Harry said sadly, taking Draco's hand in his.

"And I feel exactly the same way," Draco assured him. "But you're more than I ever dreamed of."

Harry warmed at the compliment, but tried to put it out of his mind. "This is about Azkaban, isn't it?" he asked. Draco sighed, and didn't answer. He seemed to be considering all the possible lies he could tell. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, tell me the truth please."

Some of the fight drained out of Draco's slender form, and he nodded miserably.

Harry scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Draco, letting the other boy cling as hard as he needed to. He felt incredibly frail in that moment, as though only Harry's arms were keeping him up. His head was slumped against Harry's shoulder, and Harry fancied that he could feel Draco's ribs through his pajamas. Draco's body was burning with the fever, and he shook with silent coughs, but Harry didn't let go. He tried as hard as he could to pass what strength he had to Draco, to take some of the other boy's troubles as his own. But he couldn't. All he could do was hold Draco as the blond boy shook with grief and fear. No tears fell, but Harry suspected that they had on many other nights. Yet again, he berated himself for being so oblivious. It had been so obvious! But he hadn't looked. He'd accepted Draco's insistence that he was fine and hadn't tried to help the other boy in any way. He was an idiot.

Finally, Draco's shaking slowed to a stop, and he pulled away slightly: not enough to make Harry let go, but far enough away that they could talk comfortably. "I'm sorry for that," Draco told him quietly, his eyes full of shame and another emotion that Harry knew all too well: self-loathing.

"Don't be!" he told Draco fiercely. "If you need to let it out, then do it. I'll always listen to you!"

"Thank you," Draco said. "But I don't want to be so much trouble."

Harry sighed. When would Draco understand? "Draco, I'm your friend. I love you. I hate seeing you hurting like this! I know what you're going through, believe me." He laughed a little bitterly. Oh yes, he certainly knew exactly how Draco was feeling. Sirius' loss struck him suddenly, and he had to fight hard not to contract his muscles in a shiver.

Draco caught the slight motion though, and looked at him. "What was it like?" he asked hesitantly. "When he died?"

Harry took a deep breath, then let it out. He didn't want to talk about it, _couldn't_ talk about it, and yet he couldn't deny it to Draco. Draco knew what it was like: he would be the only one who could really understand. He felt Draco's arms wrap around him, and took comfort in the nearness of the blond teenager. "It was like my whole world went dark," Harry whispered. "I didn't believe it, _couldn't_ believe it at first. I thought that he'd be back, that he was just playing around. And then… then he didn't come back when I shouted, and he didn't answer, and I knew that he wasn't coming back. I couldn't take it in. Sometimes… sometimes I still expect to see an owl coming from him, saying that he's in Tahiti checking out hot muggle girls." There were tears coursing down his cheeks, the first he'd ever shed for Sirius. Draco held him silently, resting his head against Harry's collarbone. The contact gave him strength, and he continued. "People don't understand. They expect me to be sad, but they don't realize how much of a catastrophe it was. He… he was the only family I remember. My parents died when I was too little to remember, and my aunt and uncle are _not_ my family. They might be related by blood, but they don't count. So when I found him… it was like a dream come true." He had to stop there as the memories coursed through him. Sirius the first time he'd seen him. Sirius at Grimmauld Place. Sirius cooking Christmas Dinner. Talking to Sirius in the fire. Seeing Sirius duel with Bellatrix. Watching him… fall. He found that he was weeping openly, drenching the pillow that Draco had been coughing into.

"You don't have to go on," Draco whispered, running his hands over Harry's back. But Harry did have to. Now that the memories had been unleashed, they had to run their full course. And so he talked. He told about the letters, and about Grimmauld Place. He told about seeing Sirius descend deeper into melancholy. He recounted the duel at the ministry, and about seeing Sirius fall.

"No one really understood," he said again, his voice reduced to a broken whisper. "No one."

"I understand," Draco told him, his voice equally soft.

"I know."

They sat together, holding each other and remembering until Draco started to cough again. Harry looked up guiltily. "God, Draco! You should be asleep, not listening to me break down."

Draco grinned lopsidedly. "Yes mum," he said. Then, more quietly, almost hesitantly, "Stay with me?"

Harry nodded, and Draco scooted over to allow Harry to slip into the bed. Through mutual consent, they held each other, each allowing the other to take as much strength as he could. Neither slept for a long time, both wrapped up in their own memories and sorrows.

* * *

The next morning, Draco seemed much improved. His face was less flushed, and when Harry put a hand on his forehead, it was cooler, though not normal temperature yet. He was breathing better as well, and Harry had to wonder if the Room had dosed the soup with antibiotics. It was the sort of thing that it would do.

"What day is it?" Draco asked, sitting up in the bed.

Harry frowned, trying to remember. "Saturday, I think," he said. "Why?"

"Then we can stay here a little while longer, can't we?"

There was a slight pleading note in Draco's voice, one that Harry found impossible to resist. It also brought home with full force that Draco was far from fine. Harry had neglected him for too long. He vowed that he would stay with Draco until the other boy recovered as much as was possible.

"Of course."

Draco snuggled back down into the bed, and Harry leaned down to kiss his forehead. Draco moaned slightly, and Harry grinned. "No more," he said sternly. "You're still sick."

As though in response, Draco coughed. It was a far cry from the desperate, hacking sounds of the night before, though, and it didn't bother Harry that much. Draco was rapidly getting better. He wasn't completely recovered, though, and Harry wasn't about to let him go gallivanting about the castle.

Draco seemed to realize this, because he looked up into Harry's eyes. "What shall we do to pass the time if passion is forbidden?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Ask the Room," he answered.

Draco shrugged, and closed his eyes. A moment later, a chessboard appeared on the bedside table. Harry looked at it, and couldn't hide a groan. Draco looked up at him, his eyebrow raised in amusement. "You don't approve?"

"I'm an _extremely_ bad chess player," Harry told him bluntly.

"And I'm extremely good," Draco said smugly. "So it doesn't matter." With a sigh, Harry moved over so that they could put the board behind them. They set up their pieces quickly, and began to play.

Draco was right, he _was_ good. He had obviously been playing for a long time, and Harry though that he could probably give even Ron a run for his money. Not, of course, that either of them would ever consent to playing the other. It was soon obvious that Draco was going to crush Harry's forces though the simple virtue of superior numbers. Harry sent piece after piece up to try and capture one of Draco's, but they all ended up being slaughtered by Draco's army. When Harry was finally forced to concede, Draco looked at him in amazement.

"Harry, you should be much better at this game."

Harry frowned. "I don't do well at long-term thinking," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you do," he said. "You just don't realize it. Look, imagine this is Quidditch, all right? My king is the snitch, and the other pieces are the other players. To capture the snitch, you need to get past the other players without being caught, correct?" Harry nodded. "So you send out the other players to distract as many of the opponents as possible. Then, you just have to duel against the enemy seeker while trying to get him farther away from the snitch than you."

"It's not that simple," Harry complained.

"No, it's not," Draco agreed. "But that's the basic idea, right?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"So take that idea and use it here."

"It's not going to work!"

Draco sighed. Then, his face lit up. He pulled his wand off the bedside table and muttered something to the white pieces. They sprang to attention, and arranged themselves obediently on their side of the board.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Playing on your side," Draco said, skillfully setting up the black pieces. He then proceeded to guide Harry through a game of proper chess, explaining the reasons for his moves and predicting what the other side would do in return. By the time Draco captured the white king, Harry realized that he'd actually followed what was going on.

"I actually know what to do now," Harry told him, amazed.

Draco laughed. He winced as the laughter turned to a cough, but it passed quickly, and he returned to his own side of the board. "So are you ready to play again?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll see."

They set their pieces up again, and this time, Harry managed to capture Draco's Queen before the blond boy kicked his King off the board. Draco grinned. "See?" he asked. "You _can_ do it, if you try!"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean that I have to like it, though," he said.

"You will," Draco told him confidently. "Trust me." Draco took pity on Harry, though, and sent the chess set back to wherever the Room kept the things it supplied to whoever used them.

Harry stretched out, working the kinks out of his back and neck. "Are you feeling up to getting out of bed yet?" he asked.

Draco grimaced. "I'm _fine_, Harry," he said, a little impatiently. "I told you, it's just a cold."

"Aggravated by the fact that you haven't been taking proper care of yourself," Harry said in irritation. "Honestly, Draco, why is it that you seem just to be able to ignore your own needs like this?"

Draco sighed. "It's not like I do it on purpose," he said, though he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "I just… forget."

Harry snorted, but didn't comment. He knew exactly why Draco did this to himself, and he didn't approve of the feeling at all. Draco wanted to punish himself for things that weren't his fault, and that he couldn't have avoided. Of course, Harry had done the same things himself, but he pushed the thought away. This was about Draco, not him.

"I promise to eat again," Draco told him seriously. "And to sleep. It's just been… hard."

Harry nodded, feeling guilt over his thoughts wash over him. Who was he to be pointing fingers? "I know," he said.

Draco nodded. "I know you do," he whispered. "That's why I'm telling you. You'll understand, and you won't ridicule me."

"You're strong, Draco," Harry said, responding to the sentiment instead of the words. "Believe me, you're the strongest person I know."

"I don't feel strong," Draco muttered.

Harry grinned. "We never do," he said.

Draco laughed. "That is so true."

They stayed in the Room for most of the day, laughing, talking, admitting secrets. Harry felt as though he was finally draining the poison out of an old wound, and it was a huge relief. He suspected that Draco felt the same way.

* * *

Pansy could only hope that Potter noticed Draco's condition before too much longer, because she was going out of her mind trying to care for him alone. After all, _Potter_ was supposed to be his great love, not her. But she didn't complain, at least, not out loud, and she continued to do what she could. The night that Draco didn't return for almost twenty four hours, she hoped sincerely that he'd had a good long conversation with Potter and exorcised at least a few of his demons. Blaise took advantage of Draco's absence to drag her away from her duties as mother-in-chief and back to being just Pansy.

"You need to take care of yourself too," he reminded her. "If you fall apart, then who will take care of _me_?"

"You are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Blaise Zabini," she informed him.

"Yes," he agreed. "But sometimes it's nice not to have to do everything yourself."

Pansy nodded, a little reluctantly. Blaise grinned. "So. Now that we're clear on that point, is there anything that you actually want to do today? I feel like I've hardly seen you for the last week."

"Sorry," she said. "I've been… preoccupied."

"I noticed," he said dryly. "A bit ironic, isn't it? After all, it was my idea to worry about Draco in the first place."

Pansy shrugged. "Feel flattered."

"Oh I do. But you've neatly sidestepped my question."

She frowned, trying to think. There _were_ things that she wanted to do on her own, after all. "Will you be willing to sidestep the rules?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "Just how far?"

"Oh, far enough to take me to Hogsmeade."

His eyebrows shot up higher. "Somehow Pansy, I was expecting you to want to steal food and go to the Room."

She grimaced. "That's _boring_," she announced.

"We can never have that, can we?" he asked dryly.

She slapped him gently. "Be nice Blaise. If you don't want to take me, I'll understand."

"I never said that I wouldn't," he protested. "Do you think that you can think of a way not to get caught?"

Pansy shrugged. "We could fly."

"And what about getting caught?"

"We could use a distraction. I know some first years who would be glad for a little extra pocket money."

"And just what do you expect them to be able to do?" Blaise asked, incredulous.

She grinned evilly. "Well… I happen to know that the Weasley twins managed to sell a_ lot_ of their joke things before they left. It could possibly be arranged for several of those things to be set off somewhere far away from the main door."

Blaise looked at her with new respect. "You know, behind that frivolous exterior, Pansy, you actually do have a fairly wicked brain, don't you?"

She tossed her brown hair, winking at him from under it. "What do you mean, Blaise-dear? I am all frivolity and fun! Though, come to think of it, I _was_ sorted into Slytherin."

"If you plan on your scheme of deluding the world to your true nature, stop using four-syllable words," he advised. "So when do you want to set off this daring plan of yours?"

She pushed her hair out of her face again and glanced at her watch. Her eyes went from flirtatious to calculating, and she said, "Give me an hour to set it all up, then probably another fifteen minutes to get it working. I'll meet you in the entrance hall at… say eleven thirty. Everything should be in full swing by then, and no one should notice us."

"I don't like how you keep saying _should_," Blaise complained.

Pansy glared at him. "Do you not trust me?"

"Not in the slightest," he assured her. "Eleven-thirty it is."

As a prefect, Pansy had been given ways to communicate with the younger students. Being Slytherins, they were perfectly willing to slip out of their previous engagements and meet her discreetly in small groups. She outlined her idea, and suggested subtly that they spread the word to some of the more closed-mouthed of the students from other houses. All that she required, she told them, was that something big, confusing, and time-consuming somewhere very far away from the main hall.

Unfortunately, younger students usually exhibit a frightening lack of the ability to think for themselves, and soon, Pansy found herself the head of a small army of pranksters, all perfectly willing but incapable of coming up with things on their own. She sighed heavily, then got to work, separating them into groups consisting of brigades of students with similar prank items. Each group had an appointed leader, and she instructed those leaders to report to her when they had come up with a strategy. She listened carefully to the reports, made suggestions when they were necessary, and generally tidied up the sloppier plans.

She'd separated out a group of highly promising students –all Slytherin, naturally–, and, after telling the masses to keep working, took these selected ten into a secluded corner. "I want you ten to make sure that Filch is completely occupied. The other plans might not be enough, and I expect you to come up with something foolproof. Do you understand?"

They nodded. Elspeth, a shy third year, spoke up tentatively. "Are we sticking to safe methods?"

"Do you mean safe for yourselves, or safe for the recipients?"

"The recipients."

Pansy shrugged. "Please try not to kill anyone. I'd like this to happen during the main diversion, and I won't be here to supervise. Do you understand?"

They all nodded again, and Pansy left them to it.

* * *

At eleven-fifteen, Pansy showed up in the entrance hall. She lounged casually against a column, waiting for Blaise to show up. At exactly eleven-twenty, she heard a loud 'bang' from a far-off part of the castle and allowed herself a slightly predatory grin. So far, everything was going to plan. She listened with growing happiness as the bangs were underlaid with cursing and various shouts. If they managed to keep this up, then it would be perfect.

"_This_ is your grand plan?" Blaise hissed, coming up next to her soundlessly.

She started. "Don't _do_ that to me, Blaise! You are going to end up giving me a heart attack!"

He shrugged. "If you paid attention to the world around you, I wouldn't be able to sneak up on you like that."

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. So, are you ready?"

He nodded, and the two of them walked casually out the door and onto the grounds. Pansy glanced around at the empty lawn around them, then pulled out her reduced size broom from her pocket and murmured the counter-charm. As the Cleansweep increased to normal size, she kept a sharp glance on the castle. If anyone came out and saw them, they were in deep trouble. Soon, though, both she and Blaise were ready, and they mounted their broomsticks and took off.

Pansy didn't mind flying. She didn't idolize it like Draco did, but neither did she loath it as Granger was reputed to do. She was reasonably competent with a broom, and she even managed to pull ahead of Blaise by several feet. By the time they finally landed in Hogsmeade, he was breathing heavily. She grinned at him, still breathing easily. He glared back, then shrunk his broom down to pocket size and slipped it into his robes. She did the same, then waited for him to speak.

"Well?" he asked finally. "Are you going to actually _go_ anywhere, or shall we stand here all day?"

"_You're_ the one taking me," she protested. "Don't you have a plan?"

"I'm not even going to answer that one," he said firmly. "Where to first?"

She tilted her head, considering. "Zonko's," she said finally, watching his face fall. "And then, if you're good, you can take me to the bookshop."

He sighed. "The things I do for you," he muttered. Then, he bowed to her, for all intents and purposes as though he were a king and she his queen. "Shall we go?"

She giggled and accepted his arm. Together, they swept down the hill and into the small village.

Two hours later, they were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, sipping Butterbeer under the disapproving gaze of Madam Rosmerta. Pansy thought that the barwoman recognized them as students, but she didn't say anything.

Blaise leaned back, taking his tankard with him. "Aren't you glad you got away?" he asked.

She grinned. "Exceedingly," she agreed. "Thank you so much for offering."

He frowned at her, trying to detect any hint of sarcasm, but she only lowered her eyelashes modestly. He shrugged. "You're welcome," he said.

"How long do we have?"

He glanced at his watch. "About another half hour until dinner, I think. I assume that you want to be back by then, don't you?"

She shrugged back. "I don't care. Tomorrow's Sunday, so it's not like we need to be back early for classes."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"What do you think I am?"

"I think that you want me to buy you dinner and stay out late carousing. Am I right?"

She shrugged. "Well, there's not much in the way of carousing to be found here, but I'm game for dinner."

"Try not to order anything _too_ extravagant, please," he said, resigned. "My funds aren't unlimited."

"They're more than mine are," she pointed out. "Your family _has_ money, after all."

"Yes," he agreed. "But I don't. I'll get it when I come of age, but that's not until next October."

She looked at him in surprise. "You're only sixteen?"

He nodded. "I turned sixteen in October, remember?"

She frowned, thinking. "A little," she said, casting her mind back with difficulty. "You didn't have a party. Why so late?"

He grinned. "Advanced Placement. My parents bullied Dumbledore into letting me in a year ahead of schedule."

"I'm glad that they did," Pansy told him.

"So am I."

"So you'll buy me dinner?"

He blinked, making the necessary connection. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Pansy. I will buy you dinner."

"Good. And I'll make it up to you by getting coffee."

He snorted. "That leaves you owing me _how_ much?"

"Nothing at all," she replied. "You're the man, so you pay my way. It's the way such things work."

He sighed, but wisely chose not to answer. They ordered dinner –with Pansy pointedly _not_ ordering the most expensive thing on the menu– and ate in a comfortable silence. Gradually, they began to discuss random events, easing the tension that had been coursing through them ever since they read the newspaper article detailing the escape of Draco's parents. They carefully avoided any topic relating to that unfortunate event.

Finally, having finished their meal and sipped all the coffee they wanted, Blaise stood, stretching.

"Have you finished ruining me yet?"

Pansy grinned. "Not quite."

He lifted his eyebrows warily. "Oh? What is it now?"

She nodded towards the musicians assembling at the front of the pub. "If you give them money, they'll play a song for us."

"Do you have a preference?"

Pansy named the song she'd been thinking of, and he burst out laughing. "I didn't realize you listened to muggle music," he teased.

"I don't, usually. This one's my mother's favorite. Don't tell anyone I told you that, by the way."

"I promise," he swore solemnly. "Classical it is, then." He stood gracefully and moved easily through the throngs of tables and over to where the band was getting ready. He muttered something to them, and Pansy was sure that she could see a few coins changing hands. He turned back to her, beckoning. She walked towards him. He took her hand and led her into the space that had cleared in front of the band. The lead singer smiled at her, then lowered his arms to his instrument. Music filled the pub, and Blaise led Pansy into a slow waltz. Other couples filtered onto the floor with them, and by the time the song had ended, the tables were being pushed back to make more room.

They launched into a faster song, and Pansy grinned at Blaise. She was finally only herself, just having fun and not worrying about Draco or anyone else. She cared only about how much fun she was having. As she and Blaise danced faster and faster, she allowed herself to grin more freely than she had in a long time. Not even Blaise's satisfied look was enough to ruin her mood. She was free at long last, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

* * *

Two weeks after their conversation in the garden, Ron presented Harry with the final copy of his note to Hermione. He was blushing a brilliant crimson as he handed over the carefully rolled piece of parchment, and he rushed off the moment Harry had it firmly in hand. Parvati watched him go, then raised her eyebrows.

"What's that?" she asked. She didn't have to elaborate; Harry knew as well as she did what she was talking about.

"A letter," Harry said shortly. He had no wish to discuss Ron's love life with Parvati. It was one thing to give her vague hints about his own, but there was no way he was going to reveal Ron's secrets. He was much too loyal a person for that.

Apparently she didn't realize that, because she pressed, "For you?"

"No."

"For who?"

"Why do you care?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, you're such a _boy_! I care because I'm curious."

"Tough," he said flatly. "I'm not going to tell you."

Later, he would realize just what a stupid thing that was to say to a girl like Parvati. It only made her more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

"Come on, Harry!" she wheedled, moving closer to him. "I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Harry sighed. "No!" he insisted. "Just leave it alone."

She pouted prettily. Harry felt his insides start to soften slightly. He turned his thoughts ferociously to Draco, and they regained their customary hardness. "No."

"Well, will you at least tell me who it's from?"

"Will that get rid of you?"

"Possibly."

He sighed. "It's from Ron, all right?"

She grinned triumphantly, and he wondered just what he'd given away. "This must be your lucky day. I can leave now. And, by the way? Hermione's in the library." She winked at him, then skipped away. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd just told her everything she needed to know, even though he'd sworn not to. What was he coming to? Still, she _had_ given him useful information. He turned on his heels and walked out of the common room, heading for the library.

Sure enough, Hermione was sitting in a corner, furiously scribbling away. She didn't look up as he came over to her, and only slowed her frantic note taking when he spoke her name.

"Mm?" she asked, not looking up.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Mm-hm," she said absently, carefully inserting a period at the end of her bullet point. Only Hermione would make her bullets complete sentences, Harry though, glancing over her shoulder at the book she was reading.

"'And would not a foreign adventure deflect some of the rebellious energy that went into strikes and protest movements towards and external enemy? Would it not unite the people with government, with armed forces, instead of against them? This was probably not a conscious plan among most of the elite—but a natural development from the twin drives of capitalism and nationalism.'" Harry read, lifting his eyebrows as he did so. "What's this for?"

"History of Magic," Hermione said stiffly. "And I have a lot more to read, so please say what you have to say and be brief."

Harry sighed. "This is from Ron," he said, putting the letter down on top of her book.

She frowned, pushing it off the book and neatly into a pile of papers. "Does it require an answer?"

"Yes," Harry told her. "Preferably soon. I'd rather not try to deal with Ron's nerves for too long, if you don't mind."

"All right," she said. "I'll give it to him when I've written it."

"All right," Harry agreed. He watched as she plunged back into the book, obviously completely ignoring him. He sighed, then started back up to Gryffindor Tower. He found Ron sitting in the dormitory, steadfastly looking away from his bed. "I gave it to her," he said.

Ron seemed to deflate some. "And?"

Harry shrugged. "She was working."

He sighed. "So she didn't even look at it, did she?"

Harry started to lie, then changed his mind. Ron wouldn't appreciate it any more than he himself would have. "No," he admitted. "But she put it with the most important of her homework."

Ron snorted. "That's a very messed up compliment," he said. His face fell again. Harry knew Ron well enough to know when he was about to suffer from a serious case of over strung nerves, and he would rather not have to deal with that. He wondered suddenly if this was how Draco had felt when he was waiting for Harry to give him his answer. He hoped not.

"Look, Ron. There's no point in just sitting here. Grab your broom."

"What?"

"Grab your broom. We both need some practice if we're going to win the Quidditch cup."

"But, what if she answers?" Ron asked. Harry could see his eyes wandering out to the Quidditch pitch, though, and he pressed his advantage.

"She's got half the book to get through," Harry said. "It'll be a while."

"You think?"

"Trust me."

"All right," he said reluctantly.

Harry grinned, and ushered him out to the pitch.

* * *

They entered the common room slowly, both panting and drenched with sweat. Ron collapsed onto his bed, then frowned and reached under himself. He pulled a slightly crumpled piece of paper out and looked at it. All the color drained out of his flushed face.

"It's her answer," he said simply. His hands shook as he struggled to open it. With a ripping sound, he finally managed to open the letter and smoothed it out on his knee. Slowly, he began to read. When he reached the end of the letter, he simply sat for a long, still moment. Finally, Harry reached over and pulled it out of his unresisting hands. He read it quickly, noting that Hermione's usually neat and even handwriting wavered slightly in some spots. When he finished, he looked up at Ron.

"See?" he asked. "She agreed, didn't she?"

Ron nodded shakily. "Yeah," he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "Yeah, she agreed." He sat silently for a beat longer, then suddenly he let out a whoop. "She agreed!" he shouted, grinning manically. "She agreed to go out with me!"

Harry grinned back, letting Ron blast his eardrums out with his exulted relief. He let his own mind wander to his own love, and his grin widened. Had Draco done the same later that night? Obviously Pansy knew about the two of them. Had Draco shouted in ecstasy that night? Harry hoped that he had. It seemed to be doing Ron rather a lot of good.

Suddenly, Ron turned to Harry. "Thanks a lot, mate," he said sincerely. "You're the one who convinced me."

"Any time," Harry told his friend sincerely. "Any time at all."

* * *

Severus sighed as he heard the knock on his door, wondering just which student he'd assigned detention to this time. With a muffled curse, he set down his book and moved to open the door. A blond girl walked in, glancing nervously around like they all did. He closed the door behind her, then scowled. He couldn't place this girl, though she looked as though she should be familiar. He waited for her to speak, hoping that her voice would give her away. "Severus," she whispered, and he started. No one but the teachers called him by his first name! He peered at her closely, wondering who in the name of Merlin she was. "Severus, don't you recognize me? It's Narcissa!"

"Narcissa?" he demanded, shocked. Now that he looked harder, it _did_ look like her, or at least, like what she'd looked like when she was still at school. "Sweet Merlin, what are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," she said, shaking her hair out. "The potion wears off in a few hours, so I don't have much time. Are you going to invite me in?"

Severus shrugged and motioned for her to follow him. He led her into his private rooms and reinforced the wards. No one else should be able to enter without his passwords, not even Albus. She sat down without an invitation, and he silently pressed a mug of tea into her hands. "Are you _mad_?" he hissed as she drank.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I suppose I must be."

He frowned at her, trying to judge her state through the anti-aging potion. "What's happened to you?"

She shrugged. "Lucius wasn't surprised to see me arrive at Azkaban. I don't know how he managed to stay sane, but then, maybe he was just always insane. Either way, he brooded for months after I arrived, and then dragged me out one night and Apparated away. I suppose that there must have been someone on the outside who neutralized the wards or something, because all of us could do magic. He took me straightly to _his_ camp, and they made me swear that night." She grimaced, and rolled up her sleeve to reveal the unmistakable Dark Mark. It hadn't shrunk with the potion, and it took over all of her small arm. Severus looked away.

"So you've been there for the last few weeks?"

She nodded. She was composed and, if not calm, then much more so than she had been in the summer. He wondered just what she'd been doing to herself. "They had to train me," she said simply. Severus nodded. He'd gone through that training himself.

"So why are you here?"

"Two reasons. First, the official. Severus, you're to report to him tomorrow night. That's all I know."

He nodded. It was understandable that she not be told anything. The Dark Lord trusted no one. It was why he was once again gaining strength. "And the other?"

"I'm worried about Draco."

Severus sighed. He should have been prepared for that one. "Narcissa, what would you like me to tell you: the truth, or a comforting lie?"

That seemed to answer her question, because she turned pale. "He's all right?"

He shrugged. "He appears to be coping reasonably well."

"Is that by my standards, or by yours?"

"Who is it who is giving the report?"

"What does that mean in my standards?"

Severus shrugged. "I would tell you to evaluate him yourself, but it would be unwise for you to be seen around him."

She looked at him, her eyes bright with hope. "Can I see him?"

Severus frowned. "Personally, I would highly discourage it. He reacts rather strongly to Death Eaters."

"He doesn't seem to mind you," Narcissa pointed out. She hadn't reacted at all to his calling her a Death Eater, and his frown deepened.

"Narcissa, what have you been taking?"

"Ligilimancy again?"

"No, years of teaching potions. What is it?"

She shrugged. "Dreamless sleep coupled with composure. Why do you ask?"

His inner natures conflicted. On the one hand, he itched to slap some sense into her. Didn't she realize what she was doing to herself? Then again, her life was likely to be short now anyway. Did it matter that she chose to destroy what was left with potions? They would keep her mostly sane. "Do you need more supplies?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you going to lecture me about the evils of relying on potions? It's what I was expecting."

"I would love to, Narcissa, but nothing I would say would have any effect." His voice softened slightly. "I would like to ask you to take care of yourself, but I realize how hard that is. Just be sensible."

She nodded seriously. "I do try," she assured him. "But… well, you know what it's like, don't you?"

Severus nodded. "I do indeed," he agreed.

They were silent for a long moment, then she said, "Severus, let me see my son, please. I… I want to talk with him."

Severus sighed. Could he really deny her this? He knew as well as she did that what she really wanted to do was to say goodbye. Neither of them had any illusions as to the dangers of their predicaments. It was quite likely that this would be the last time that Narcissa Malfoy ever saw her son. "I will fetch him. You stay _here_! No one should be able to enter without my passwords, and no one knows them but myself." He strode to the door, then paused. "There is aging potion in the blue flask by the door."

He walked quickly down the hall, keeping his eyes open for Draco. Thankfully, the boy was, for once, in the common room. He stood when Severus entered, and the potions master motioned silently for him to follow. Without a word, Draco placed a bookmark in the book he was reading and followed Severus out of the common room. The silence continued until they reached the potions room. There, Severus stopped and turned to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, it is imperative that you keep what is about to happen to yourself. It would put lives in danger if you breathed a word of this, and need I tell you that our goal is to keep as many people alive as possible?"

Draco nodded, confused. "What is going on, Sir?" he asked.

"You'll see," Severus said shortly. He spoke his password and strode into the room. Narcissa had taken advantage of the aging potion that he'd offered her, and she now looked her usual self. Now that he saw her more clearly, Severus could see that dark shadows under her eyes and the faint lines that hadn't been there in July. Draco came in after him, and stopped dead.

The two stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Severus moved over and took a seat on a wooden chair, giving every impression of being immersed in a book. They didn't even notice him. Finally, Narcissa broke the silence. "Draco," she said, and Severus could tell that, despite the potions she'd been taking, she was perilously close to losing her composure.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, not bridging the distance between them.

"I wanted to see you again."

He laughed, a little bitterly. "Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather kidnap me and force me to become the Dark Lord's slave?"

Narcissa shuddered visibly at the notion. "Draco, I just wanted to talk to you."

"Then talk."

"I… I'm sorry. I had no choice. They forced me to do it."

Draco looked at his mother in disgust. "You always have a choice, mother. Just because you allow yourself to be cowed by father doesn't mean that it was the only option."

Narcissa flinched at Draco's words, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "You don't know what it's like," she said, her voice quivering.

"I know quite well," Draco snapped. "Do you think that this year has been just perfect?"

"I don't know!" Narcissa wailed. "That's just it! I don't know you anymore, Draco!"

"Maybe you don't deserve to," Draco said coldly. "I used to idolize you, Mother. Now, I realize that you're as unworthy of my admiration as father is."

The tears were rolling freely down Narcissa's cheeks now. "I know," she whispered. "I know, and I'm not trying to justify my choices."

"But you are," Draco told her. "You call me here and tell me to forgive you. Well, maybe I can't, Mother. I was taught two things from you in my life: to keep my head down and my pride weak. Well, now I'm doing neither. I've rebelled from your training, and from Father's. I'm my own person, and I refuse to look up to anyone."

"You… you _idiot_ boy!" Narcissa screamed through the tears. "I told you that to keep you safe! Do you think I'm _proud_ of what I've become? Do you think I wouldn't have rather died than do this?"

"I notice that you are still alive," Draco told her cruelly.

"Yes, because, as you said, I'm weak. I don't want you to make my mistakes! I want you to live long enough to know what living means!"

"You want me to become a puppet."

"If that's what it takes! I want you to survive."

He looked at her with loathing. "You disgust me," he said icily. "You and your pathetic groveling. Did you think that you would impress me? Or rather, did you think that I would fall into your arms like I did when I was four? Because I'm not four any longer, Mother. I am almost of age, and the moment I turn seventeen, I swear, I am never going to take your charity or listen to your orders anymore." He swept out of the room, leaving a shocked silence behind him. Severus heard him slam the doors and leave the potions classroom. He knew from months of surreptitiously watching Draco that the blond boy would go immediately back to his study, but he didn't know what Draco would choose to do there. He'd changed, far more so that Severus had realized. He'd grown cold and closed, and the fear that had been a part of him for so long was turning to hatred.

"What did I do?" Narcissa whispered brokenly, turning Severus' attention back to her. He crossed the room and made her sit down. He summoned a chair and sat down next to her, taking her hands in his own. He was a fool for allowing her to see Draco. He should just have told her that it couldn't be arranged and sent her on her way. He knew as well as she did that this had basically signed her death warrant. Narcissa lived for her son, and if he no longer needed her, then her purpose was gone.

"It's not your fault," Severus told her gently. "There's nothing you could have done."

"I… I looked into his eyes and saw Lucius," Narcissa managed. "Lucius was just the same."

"Draco is not Lucius," Severus said firmly. "Draco does have feelings."

"So does Lucius," she said bitterly. "Lucius feels joy, and elation, and all manner of emotions."

"But Draco is not Lucius," Severus said again.

"No," Narcissa said quietly. She took a deep breath, trying to control her tears. "Please, Severus. Make sure that Draco never becomes Lucius."

Severus nodded. "I swear, Narcissa, I will do everything in my power to keep Draco himself."

"Thank you." She straightened, and he let go of her hands. She glanced at her watch, and sighed. "I should go," she said. "Thank you for consenting to talk to me, and thank you for bringing him. At least… at least I know that he's safe."

Severus stood, and ushered her out of his rooms though a series of passages unknown to most of the student body. They led out into the Forbidden Forrest, and he walked with her to the boundary. "Take care of yourself," he told her seriously.

She nodded. "I'll try." She hesitated, looking straight into his eyes. Then, she leaned forward and deposited a kiss on his lips. He returned it, and they held the connection for a long moment. Then, she nodded to him, stepped across the ward line, wrapped her black cloak protectively around her body, and vanished.

1 From _A People's History_, by Howard Zen.


	22. 9: tempest 3

_Author's note: well, this chapter is basically for any snape fans we might have out there reading this... and any snape/lily shippers. (-kyra and caroline both raise their hands while tamara scoffs, muttering, 'i like sev and remus better.'-)  
Disclaimer: i own a bright yellow skating dress, far too many mugs of tea, and a bad temper, but not harry potter...  
--kyra_

* * *

_ Snape glowered ferociously at the assembled class. Hermione and Malfoy exchanged glances. He was obviously in a bad mood, and Hermione wondered just who it was who'd failed to perform correctly this time. He didn't acknowledge either her or Malfoy, which was odd, and she wondered suddenly if __she_ had been the one to fail. The thought chilled her slightly.

Snape was striding up and down the classroom, lecturing them about defeating boggarts without the Ridikulous charm. Hermione scribbled furiously, trying to record every word. Suddenly, he stopped talking and looked straight at her.

"Stop that incessant scratching, Miss Granger," he snapped. "Five points from Gryffindor."

She put down her quill, seething at the unfairness, and watched him as he strode back towards the rest of the class. He _was_ attractive, that was undeniable. But, as she had just been shown yet again, he was a biased, unfair git much of the time. She could live without him. He finally finished lecturing, flicked his wand, and left them to it. A heavy trunk appeared on each desk, each containing an imitation Bogart. They were supposed to blast the imitation with a Patronus, which he expected everyone in the class to have perfected. Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she'd managed to do it the year before, and she looked at the trunk in front of her with determination.

She flicked the lid off, and watched as a Harry advanced towards her. At the last moment, he turned and walked swiftly away, not looking at her. She took a deep breath, and told herself firmly that it wasn't real. She clamped her mind around an image of the Christmas holiday and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" The silvery otter shot out of her wand and headed towards the Harry-Harry. The boggart stopped when he saw the otter, and turned away again. The otter relentlessly herded it back to the trunk. Hermione slammed the lid shut and leaned against the desk, breathing heavily.

Malfoy looked at her oddly. "Your worst fear is Potter walking with his back to you?"

She sighed. "No, my worst fear is my friends abandoning me. Your turn."

Malfoy sighed just as heavily as she had, then took a grip on his wand and opened the trunk. Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the trunk and advanced on Malfoy. Malfoy took an inadvertent step back, then managed, "Expect Patronum!" A big cat exploded out of his wand and advanced on the boggart. It snarled softly, and the boggart slowly sank back into the trunk. Hermione closed the lid after it, and the two looked at each other. She didn't say anything in response to the open challenge on his face. She didn't have to. She'd seen the blank terror on Malfoy's face when the boggart stepped out of the trunk. There wasn't really anything else to say after that.

"Very impressive," Snape drawled, sliding up behind them noiselessly. He sneered at Malfoy. "But perhaps it might be improved by _practicing_."

Malfoy snarled back. "I _am_ practicing, _Professor_," he said icily. "Perhaps you should show us yourself, just to make sure that we're doing it right."

His voice was loud enough that the entire class heard, and everyone went dead silent. Snape was looking at Malfoy with barely concealed fury. "Mr. Malfoy, you will see me after class. Ten points from Slytherin, and detention." He turned and stalked back to the front of the class and shot a poisonous glare at the rest of them. "Get back to work!"

Hermione looked at Malfoy in amazement. "What was _that_ all about?" she hissed, gathering her thoughts to unleash the boggart again.

Malfoy shrugged. "We had a rather ugly confrontation the other day. He's apparently not very happy about it."

"About boggarts?"

"About my parents. Will you get back to practicing now, Granger?"

Hermione sighed, knowing full well that she would get no more answers out of Malfoy. She flipped open the trunk again, only to be faced with Ron this time. Lips clenched to stop them from shaking, she got to work.

* * *

Severus was trying very hard to control his temper. He knew that it had been unwise to blow up at Draco in public, and he wasn't naïve enough to think that it wouldn't be around the entire school in a matter of hours. He was the head boogeyman of Hogwarts, at least for those students for whom the Dark Lord was still a legend, and anything scandalous about him was instantly spread among the student body like the plague. But what else could he have done? Did the idiot boy not realize what he was doing? Granted, Severus' nerves were already stretched to the maximum by his little talk with the Dark Lord last night, but what business did Draco have challenging him like that?

Severus knew perfectly well what would have happened if he'd allowed himself to answer Draco's dare. The entire class would have seen the Dark Lord moving in for the kill. It wouldn't be productive, or useful, and Severus knew quite well the reaction that most of the school would have: that this was conformation of the fact that he was a Death Eater. Of course, Severus _was_ a Death Eater, but only in name. He hadn't been on a raid in… well, to be prefect honest, he'd rather not think of the last raid that he'd been on.

There was a knock on the door, and Draco came in without waiting for approval. He sat in stony silence in one of Severus' chairs and looked steadily at his Head of House. Severus looked back at him, wondering which of them would break the silence first. Finally, as the silence became more and more oppressive, Severus said, "I am sure that you are aware of why you are here."

Draco shrugged. "You're angry at me."

"Obviously," Severus said, struggling to contain his frustration.

"What are you going to do to me, take more points away?"

Severus wondered how long it would be before he lost all of his control completely. "Mr. Malfoy, I am going to put you in detention for as long as it takes. But that is beside the point."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point, you idiot boy, is that you are being intolerable and I will _not_ tolerate it!"

Draco's lips clenched in anger. "_Professor_, you will refrain from insulting me."

"And _you_ will refrain from threatening, Mr. Malfoy. Impressive though your work was on St. Valentine's Day, I assure you that I am still far better than you when it comes to the game of Wizard's dueling."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I am," Severus said icily, and his tone seemed to be enough to shut Draco up. Severus took advantage of the silence to continue. "I am not going to have this conversation with you again, so you will listen to me very well. You know nothing of the dangers of the real world, Mr. Malfoy. You have no idea what dangers your parents face, and you have no idea of the dangers that _I _face, just to keep all of you students alive. You are being an ungrateful brat, and this will stop _now_. Do I make myself _quite_ clear?"

Draco sneered. "You do indeed. Though perhaps I should take over the job, if it's such a danger to your safety?"

"That is precisely what must _not_ happen," Severus roared, finally losing his temper. "Do you not realize what people are doing for you? There are countless Aurors out there risking their lives daily for your safety. Yes, you in particular. In case you hadn't figured it out, most of our delightful Ministry of Magic officials are baying for your blood. No child has been imprisoned in Azkaban for over sixty years, but you could well be the one who revives the tradition."

"But they couldn't keep me there," Draco pointed out. "Their security is lax."

"Do you expect a rescue party like your parents?" Severus asked acidly. "Because I assure you, the Dark Lord could care less about you. I know. I spoke with him."

For the first time, Draco was looking slightly nervous. He hid it skillfully, though, and demanded, "And you think that I _want_ to be rescued by the Dark Lord?"

"If you go to Azkaban you will," Severus warned. "Believe me." It was his turn to retain the shudder that passed through him at the thought of being imprisoned in that _place_ again.

Draco, curse him, was astute, and he caught the very slight motion. His eyebrow shot up. "Personal experience, Professor?"

Silently, Severus nodded. He braced himself for a cutting remark, and so was amazed when Draco didn't immediately reply. Finally, the blond boy asked slowly, "And you escaped?"

"I was rescued," Severus said curtly, wondering desperately how to change the subject. He certainly _did not_ want to discuss this with Draco.

Draco was relentless, though, and he pressed on. "Who rescued you?"

"Professor Dumbledore." Severus sighed, and supposed that he would have to tell the entire story. Or at least, some of the entire story. "I had been working for the Dark Lord, and I was foolish enough to get caught. Professor Dumbledore discovered me and offered me a position on his staff –a _permanent _position– in return for information that he could use. I'd realized by then that the Dark Lord could care less whether I rotted in Azkaban or not, and I took the offer." There had been more, of course there had, but Draco had no business knowing about Lily. No one had any business knowing about Lily.

Thankfully, Draco seemed satisfied with Severus' explanation. He sat for a long moment, lost in silence. Finally, he stood. "When shall I report for detention?"

Severus frowned, mentally flipping the pages of his calendar. "Tomorrow," he said. "After dinner."

Draco nodded, and walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Severus watched him go, then sank down into the black leather armchair that was conveniently placed by the cold hearth. Severus didn't bother lighting a fire.

* * *

_He was pacing in his cell, wondering how long it would be until he went completely and totally mad. Already he could feel it advancing, creeping up on him in his sleep and times of mental fatigue. He hadn't slept properly in days, and the times of mental fatigue were coming more and more often. Soon, he wouldn't have the strength to resist any longer. And what was the point? She was gone, after all. She'd married that cursed prat Potter. What more reason did he have to live? She would never look at _him_ again, that was for sure._

_He sat down heavily on the pallet bed that was the only chair that the cell contained. He buried his face in his hands yet again, allowing the greasy black hair to tumble over his head and create another layer to hide his face. The tears leaked out, and he soon found himself weeping openly yet again. He couldn't stop thinking of her, and the more he thought, the more depressed he became. What was the point of trying any longer? She was gone, and she wasn't ever coming back._

_He didn't know how long he sat there, the tears dripping down his clothes and into a puddle in his lap. Finally, insistent sounds from outside the cell penetrated his grief-filled mind, and he looked up angrily. How _dare_ officials interrupt his grief? He was about to yell at them to go away, when he suddenly realized just who it was who was standing patiently outside the door to his cell._

"_What are you doing here?" Severus asked, his voice rusty from weeping and disuse._

_Albus Dumbledore eyed him compassionately. "I came to speak with you."_

"_Are you going to condemn me? Because if you're asking me to fall to my knees and beg you for forgiveness, you will be sadly mistaken."_

_Dumbledore looked at him steadily. "I came to offer you a second chance, Severus."_

_Severus snorted. "What's the price? Unquestioning obedience? Sworn allegiance to you and your cause?"_

"_I want you to teach at Hogwarts."_

_Severus blinked. That had _not_ been what he was expecting. "And what do I get?"_

"_Your freedom. A secure position. The possibility to redeem yourself in the eyes of the world." It remained unspoken, but Severus knew that Dumbledore meant: in _her_ eyes. He knew, then. Of course he knew. Dumbledore was infamous for knowing everything._

"_I can't," Severus told Dumbledore bluntly. "There's no way that I can redeem myself."_

"_Are you willing to try?"_

_Severus only hesitated for a beat. Then, he nodded. "Yes."_

* * *

_He was pacing in his room, wondering just how long it would be until someone came to check on him. He wasn't popular with his colleagues, and the only person who seemed to care a wit about him was Albus. But Albus was busy with Order stuff, and no one else would care. He resisted the urge to drop into a chair and stare moodily into the fire. He'd been doing that too much lately, and it worried him. Where had Severus Snape, the boy who prided himself on never crying, gone? Now he was a wimp, he knew. There was no way anyone would want him. No way _she_ would want him._

_He hadn't spoken of her since leaving Azkaban. She hadn't communicated with him, and he hadn't tried to find her. If he didn't know, then he could pretend to himself that she was miserable and regretting her choice. It was an empty hope, one built of his obsessive dreams, but he couldn't help himself. When he allowed himself to think truly about it, he was horrified at the depths to which he'd descended. _

_There was a knock on the door, and he turned with a frown, glancing at his watch. It was far too early for any of the staff to be worried. If they were going to care, then it would happen around four in the morning, when – fueled by firewhiskey and Christmastime – they would experience humanitarian impulses and try to bring him to the festivities. He shuddered at the thought, and momentarily debated the merits of pretending to be asleep. The knock sounded again, more instant this time, and he sighed. Whoever it was, they knew quite well that he rarely fell asleep before midnight on any night, Christmas party or no._

"_Enter."_

_The door was pushed open hesitantly, and someone stepped in. Severus had turned his back, hoping to discourage any charitable impulses, and all he saw was the shadow that was cast by his visitor. There was a very long silence, and Severus wondered just when whoever it was would speak. He could deal with silence. It was the best weapon he had. He'd learned long ago that few people shared his affinity with that acute lack of noise._

"_Sev?"_

_He stiffened, not daring to believe his ears. It couldn't be… could it? What was _she_ doing here? It couldn't be her. She was probably shut up with Potter, celebrating their first Christmas together. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him._

"_Severus!" More insistent this time, just like she used to be. She never could take no for an answer, and when she was finally convinced of something, she never turned away from her beliefs. _

_Without turning, he whispered, "Lily?"_

_She laughed. Yes, it was her laugh, though it sounded sadder than it had been. Well, whose laugh wasn't, these days? "Of course it's me, Sev. Who did you think?"_

"_I thought you'd be with… him." With her husband. The words stuck in his throat, and he couldn't speak them. He knew that he would never be able to speak them._

"_He's in the Great Hall," she answered. "I wanted to find you."_

"_You've found me."_

"_Will you at least do me the courtesy of _looking_ at me?" she demanded, and he could just picture the expression on her face. Very slowly, he turned to look at her. Yes, it was definitely her. Her red hair had been cut, and it now barely brushed her shoulders. She was dressed nicely, but with the understated elegance that she'd displayed even at school. She was looking at him with hesitant joy mixed with irritation, and he felt his breath catch as he looked at her. He couldn't speak, and she finally asked, "Are you just going to leave me standing here?"_

_He started, then blushed a deep red. He would bet anything he owned that none of his colleagues – including Albus – would have thought him capable of turning such a shade. Lily, who knew him far better than any of them ever had, only grinned._

_Belatedly, he gestured to the chair that he'd been refraining from collapsing into. She sat daintily, and he moved to light a fire in the grate. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper fire. He pointedly ignored the way his hands were shaking._

"_Let me." From her seat, Lily expertly cast an incendio charm, which set the decorative log on fire. Severus moved back from the hearth, wondering what to do now. He had no other chairs, and he couldn't just go on standing stupidly with nothing to do. Finally, he started to make tea, deciding that there was nothing else he could do._

"_I haven't heard from you in ages," she commented, apparently watching him. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part._

"_I've been occupied," he answered stiffly._

"_I can see that. You spend so much time thinking in here that it's a wonder you go out at all."_

"_I get out upon occasion."_

_She was silent for a long moment, then she said quietly, "Albus told me what you do."_

"_Oh?"_

"_He said that you're a double agent for us. I think that's wonderful, Sev."_

_He raised his eyebrows, though she couldn't see him. "Do you?"_

_She sighed in exasperation. "Have you lost the ability to communicate in anything but monosyllables?"_

"_No." She giggled slightly, and for a moment, he could have sworn that they were both sixteen again. He quickly busied himself with the tea again._

"_Sev, you've changed," she remarked sadly after another long moment of silence._

"_So have you," he said involuntarily._

_She sighed heavily. "We all have," she agreed. Then, her tone brightened. "Though not all changes are bad."_

_He grunted noncommittally._

_He could just picture her rolling her eyes as she said, "I'm going to have a baby, Severus."_

_He dropped the teacup that he was holding. The scalding liquid burned through his shoes and into his feet, but he didn't notice. How _could_ she do this to him? This was the ultimate betrayal!_

"_Sev?" she asked, in a worried tone. "Sev, are you all right?"_

_He managed another grunt, his mind still reeling from the news. Then, she delivered the next bombshell._

"_I'd like you to be Godfather."_

"_No." The word was out of his mouth before he could think, before he could do anything but react with his gut instinct._

"_Why not?" she sounded puzzled and, worse, hurt. But the word had been said, and there was no retracting it now._

"_Does _he_ know?"_

"_He has a name, Severus," she told him angrily. "And yes, _James_ agrees."_

"_No." It was more definite this time, a clear refusal that he'd had time to think through._

"_Why?" she demanded again._

"_I want nothing to do with _him_."_

"_Is it because of what happened at school? Honestly, Sev, you need to let go sometime!"_

'_It's because he took you!' Severus ached to say the words, but he knew that he never would. He'd hidden the truth for far too long to stop now. "No, Lily."_

"_Fine!" She was angry now. He preferred it that way. Anger broke his heart, but pain shattered it. "Maybe I was wrong about you! I thought that you would be able to change, Severus! I thought that you could be beyond schoolboy rivalries and petty arguments. But I was wrong! James was right about you after all! I never want to talk to you again!" She was shouting by the time she finished, and she stood up so fast that she almost toppled the chair over. She strode out of the room and yanked the door open, slamming it behind her so hard that Severus fancied that he could hear the walls shake. He stood in the puddle of rapidly cooling tea for a long moment, then sank into the chair. It was still warm from her body heat, and it smelled faintly of her. The tears dripped down his face, and even as he started to sob, he knew that it would be the last time he ever cried for Lily Potter._

* * *

_He was pacing in Albus' office, wondering just what he was doing there. He'd been told, of course, and he didn't know how he should be reacting. He was devastated, naturally, but there was an odd numbness in his soul as well. It was as though he had heard the news through a window, as though there was a barrier between himself and the news. His eyes remained dry, and he could feel none of the crushing pain that Albus seemed to be expecting. And why should he? She'd been dead to him for the last year, after all. She'd kept her promise, and he'd never seen her again. Had she known? That night, had she known that she would be dead within a year? No, of course she hadn't. How could she have known?_

_The door opened, and Albus stepped through. Severus stopped pacing, and nodded very slightly to his employer._

"_I had hoped that you would come," Albus said mildly._

"_I did not have much choice," Severus said stiffly._

"_You always have a choice, Severus," Albus told him. Severus didn't answer, waiting for Albus to come to the point. Albus took his time, offering Severus both a seat and some sort of candy that Severus refused with a shudder. He confined his answers to grunts and monosyllables, and Albus finally said, "I expect you are wondering why I asked you here."_

_Severus refrained from either shrugging or nodding._

"_I have something to give you."_

_Severus raised a single eyebrow. Albus sighed, then handed him a scroll. _

"_Need I open it here?"_

"_Of course not."_

"_Headmaster." Severus' nod was as curtly cordial as humanly possible, and he turned without hesitation and walked back down the stairs._

_He arrived in his own rooms without meeting anyone, and locked the door with a barked spell. He sat down slowly in the chair, putting his wand away without lighting the fire. There was enough daylight seeping through that he didn't need it._

_He slit the scroll open, and looked at the letter without really seeing it. He'd known who it was from, of course. He'd seen her handwriting on the outside, and no one else called him Sev. It was odd that she would use her nickname for him on the letter, though. Usually they reserved it for being in private. He felt his mind start to wander back to those times, and turned it severely back to the letter. Those times were past, and it would do no good to dwell on them._

Dear Sev,

I don't really know how to start this, so I may as well just get the first part over with. I am so sorry for what I said at Christmas. It was totally uncalled for, and I was wrong. You _have_ changed, you know. You've become even more internal and closed than before. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but I suppose that it's not really your fault. You remember, I told you that Albus explained what you were doing for us? I forgot to tell you how much I appreciate it. James doesn't, but I'm trying to change his mind. You deserve respect, Sev. You're a man now, not a boy anymore. Sometimes it's hard to remember. So much has happened since we talked at Christmas. I had my baby. A beautiful boy called Harry. James' best friend was Godfather, but I would still have preferred it to be you. I've never liked Sirius Black, as you well know.

I hope that you'll forgive me for what I told you. I still want to be your friend, and I hope that we'll be able to meet again. But if we can't, and I know that you might not even read this, then please be nice to Harry. He doesn't deserve to be punished for either of his parents' sins. He looks just like James you know. But he has my eyes. He's going to get so tired of hearing that, I can just tell. He's already walking, and he's even starting to talk. His first word was 'love,' you know. I was telling him how lucky we are to have him, and he looked into my eyes, and burst into a bright grin. Then, he said, "Ove!" I just know that he was telling me that he loves me. I know that you'll love him as much as I do.

This is getting a bit long for just an apology note. I hope that you'll answer me. Please Sev. I don't want you to be angry with me anymore. I was wrong, and I'm admitting to it you. If you want me to tell you in person, then you'll have to come here. Harry's a bit young for Hogwarts yet. (Though I refuse to get down on my knees! I'm not _that_ desperate, you know!) But joking aside, I do miss you, and I want to talk with you again.

Love,

You friend,

Lily.

_He held the letter in trembling hands. She'd signed it 'Love.' Could it mean…? But no. She hadn't said anything else about it, just that she wanted to be his friend. That was enough. But she was dead. It was too late now._

"_I'm so sorry," he whispered, clasping the letter to his heart. "It was my fault. My fault that you died, and my fault that you thought I hated you. How could you think that? I've never hated you Lily. Never."_

_Slowly, he pulled the letter away from his body. He knew that he had to keep it. How could he not? But where to put it? He wanted to frame it and hang it for all to see, but there was no way that he could. He wouldn't allow any of the others to see. It was too private, too much a part of himself to flaunt it for all to notice._

_Finally, he pulled a discreet black volume off his bookshelf. It was filled with pictures of her, pictures that he'd drawn without her noticing. He slipped the letter into the book, and forced himself to put it back without flipping through the pictures. He'd sworn never to cry for Lily Potter again, and he knew that he would if he allowed himself to get caught up in the pictures. He put the notebook back onto the shelf, and he knew with a definite certainty that he didn't even know he had, that he would never look at the inside of that book again._

* * *

_He was pacing around his classroom, wondering how in the _hell_ to handle the next seven years. He'd met him. Lily's boy. For the last ten years, Severus had been both dreading and longing for that moment. This was her only child, the last living person who was really _hers_. And he looked like _him_. He looked so much like him that Severus had had to study the boy closely to ensure that it really wasn't him. But no. He had Lily's eyes. Those glorious green eyes that showed so much emotion. Severus couldn't take his own eyes off the boy. He wondered what the others would say about him._

_Severus couldn't help hoping that the boy would be in his own house. That would have made it so much easier. It would have given him a chance to favor the boy and get him away from all the things that were said about Severus himself. It would give him a chance to get to know the boy and, maybe, reveal some of the things that the boy didn't know about her. He should have known better._

_As the sorting hat, curse it, revealed that the boy was a Gryffindor, Severus turned his blazing eyes towards Albus. Albus' gently beaming smile told Severus all he needed to know: Albus had known that the boy would be in Gryffindor, and he knew that Severus hadn't wanted it. In that moment, Severus wanted to hate Albus as much as he'd once wanted to hate Lily. But, like then, he couldn't. He could only sneer and turn away, pretending to all that he didn't care._

_The boy showed up in Severus' first class, and Severus felt such hatred boil in him that he surprised even himself. He hadn't thought that he could still feel such emotions. He'd fought to control his emotions and he thought that he'd succeeded. Apparently he'd been wrong. The boy sparked so many feelings that Severus wasn't used to. He looked like _him_. He looked so much like him that Severus wanted to hate him so much. And yet there were Lily's eyes. Those two green orbs were really the only things that prevented Severus from attacking him on the spot. He couldn't hurt the boy. He wanted to, but he couldn't._

_After that class was over, Severus waited for Albus. Sure enough, the fire roared the same shade as her eyes, and the familiar tall, thin figure stepped out, brushing the soot off his snowy beard._

"_As convenient as floo powder is, it does have its disadvantages," Albus commented mildly._

_Severus didn't answer. Albus hadn't expected one._

"_You had your first classes with the first years today, didn't you?"_

_Severus grunted noncommittally. Albus waited, and Severus knew that he couldn't get away with just that. He sighed. "What did you expect? He resembles his father in every way."_

"_Does he?"_

"_He does."_

_Albus didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he said quietly, "You could have made the boy into your greatest friend." He didn't have to add that Severus had thrown his chance away._

_Severus managed to sneer, though all he wanted was to blast Albus' gently smiling figure out of existence. "There is too much… baggage between us for that to happen, my own reputation among that."_

_Albus raised his eyebrows. "Is that what you truly believe?"_

"_I know it, Headmaster," Severus said stiffly._

"_Well then," Albus said briskly. "If you know it, then there is nothing I can do to change your mind. I shall leave you to prepare your classes." He stepped through the fire, leaving Severus alone and discontent. Why had Albus left so quickly? Severus wanted Albus to try to insist. Then, he could vent his anger, his fury, and his despair. As it was, all he could do was give all of his students inordinately low marks, and know that it wasn't enough. He sensed that he was destined to spend the next four years in a blur of conflicting emotions. He was not looking forward to it._

* * *

Severus shook himself out of memory lane. It was late. The candle that burned perpetually on his mantle had accumulated several more dribbly blobs of wax, and he was stiff from sitting still for too long. He groaned as he stood, carefully not looking at the bookcase as he stretched the cramps out of his long limbs. The black volume was still there, and he knew that if he allowed himself to look at it, he would need to take it out and look at the pictures. That would result in yet another spur of half-remembered conversations and emotions, and he'd had quite enough of that for one night. Instead, he forced his mind to more mundane matters.

What would he do with Draco? It wasn't a particularly pleasant topic, but it was a distraction, and he seized it eagerly. He would have to give the boy detention, and he was far too angry to give him an easy one. Hagrid, maybe? Normally he refused to have anything to do with the man, but now he began to turn the idea over in his head. Draco had wanted to know fear, had he? Hagrid would certainly show him that. Severus' thin mouth turned up in a razor of a smile. Yes, that was what he would do. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't too late after all. Maybe Hagrid would even still be up.

He walked over to his window and peered out into the gloom. Sure enough, a dim light still shone in the gamekeeper's hut. Severus grabbed his cloak and wrapped it securely around himself, stopping only to ward the room securely, then headed as fast as he could towards the front door.

Five minutes later, he was knocking on Hagrid's door. The half-giant opened it with surprise. "Professor Snape," he said warily. "To what do I owe the honor of yer visit?"

"I was wondering if you would have time to take Mr. Malfoy for a detention sometime soon," Severus said curtly. He was cold: even in May the evening air was cool, but he didn't want to prolong this visit any more than necessary.

Hagrid looked surprised. He opened his mouth to ask, but one look at Severus' patent glare discouraged him. "I've got Ginny Weasley tomorrow evenin'," he said. "I can bring 'im with her."

Severus nodded curtly, then hurried back to his rooms.

* * *

Ginny looked at Malfoy with distaste. She understood that she was being punished, but still! She glanced over her shoulder at Hagrid, who was trudging behind them.

"Straight ahead into the forest," he instructed.

Malfoy blanched. "Into the forest?" he demanded. "You can't take us there!"

Hagrid glared at him. "I can an' I will, an' if you can't deal with that, then I will inform Professor Snape an' let _him_ deal with you, understood?"

Malfoy glared at him, but didn't comment further. Ginny was surprised. She'd expected Malfoy to jump at the prospect of getting out of the detention. Either he was braver than he looked, unlikely, or he had some ulterior motive. She resolved to keep a close eye on him.

They walked into the forest, and Ginny felt a small part of herself relax. Evidently when Dancing Moon had marked her, she'd left more than just the ability to communicate.

"Right," Hagrid said quietly. "Now, we're not particularly welcome in 'ere any more, but we've got to risk it. There's been strange goin' ons around 'ere, and it's my job to find out what's up. Ginny, Malfoy, keep yer eyes open an' stick together."

"Where are you going?" Malfoy demanded, slowing.

"I'm stayin here," Hagrid told him. "I ain't exactly inconspicuous, understand, an' there's things in 'ere what wouldn't be 'appy to see me."

"So you're sending us in instead," Malfoy said. "You can't do that!"

"I can an' I am," Hagrid said firmly. "You an' Ginny should 'ave enough magic to send up a signal an' stay alive until I get there if somethin' nasty gets you."

"Should?"

"Just get on with it," Hagrid snarled. "The sooner you get in there, the sooner you can get out."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Ginny asked, trying her best to change the subject. She wanted to get into the forest proper as soon as she could, and Malfoy was not making it easy. She wondered how much trouble she'd be in if she ditched him and went to talk to Dancing Moon instead.

"Anythin' out of the ordinary," Hagrid told her. "I don't know what's out there, so just keep yer eyes open."

She nodded, then turned towards Malfoy. "Are you coming?" she demanded. "Most of the really dangerous things are nocturnal, you know."

He gulped, then nodded. The two of them walked into the forest, careful to keep a good five feet of empty space between them. Ginny lit her wand, and Malfoy followed suit. Slowly, glancing around as they went, they advanced into the forest.

Ginny, attuned to nature through her connection with the unicorns, sensed it first. She veered to the right, leaving the defined path.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy hissed.

"Something's wrong over there," Ginny whispered back. "I'm going to take a look."

"We're supposed to stay on the path!" Malfoy told her fiercely.

"We're supposed to be looking for unusual things," Ginny answered firmly. "This is most definitely unusual. You can stay there, if you want. I wouldn't keep going, though. You wouldn't want to get lost."

"Shut up," Malfoy snarled, but he stepped off the path to join her. "What makes you the expert here?"

She flashed him a grin that had nothing friendly whatsoever in it. "I've been here more than you have," she said flatly. "Now be quiet."

To her surprise, he didn't complain, only followed her deeper into the underbrush. They went a good ten yards, until Ginny stopped dead.

"What?" Malfoy demanded, almost running into her.

"Shut up," Ginny snarled, not turning. Her eyes were glued to the scene in front of her. The creature in the clearing turned to look at her, and she took a step back, colliding with Malfoy. Its human head followed her as she moved, and it began to advance. Its spider-like body was uncoordinated and clumsy, yet it managed to move with surprising speed.

"What is it?" Malfoy demanded. His voice rose until it cracked, but Ginny was too terrified to notice.

"I don't know," she answered. "But I think it's what Hagrid's looking for."

The creature suddenly halted, and a strand of gray material shot next to them. It glowed eerily, and Ginny shuddered.

"Call for help!" she shouted, sidestepping another strand of gray stuff.

"What?" Malfoy shrieked.

"Call for Hagrid!"

"How?"

She turned to him in irritation. "Are you a wizard or not, Malfoy?"

He fumbled for his wand, dropping it in his haste. He backed up another step, and screamed as another of the monsters grabbed him from behind. Ginny reacted instinctively, blasting a curse at the thing. She missed, and her hex blew up the bush next to Malfoy. The smoke curled up into the sky, hanging in the still air.

'Well, at least Hagrid will see it,' she thought absently, readying herself for another spell. Suddenly, there was another explosion, and the monster that held Malfoy was blasted back several feet. Ginny looked at Malfoy in surprise. He was standing there, terrified, looking in disbelief at the monster that had only seconds before been holding him. It lay stunned on the ground, bleeding sluggishly. Its blood dripped a glittering black, and Ginny shuddered violently. There was another explosion, and the one facing her fell back in its turn. Ginny looked behind her in amazement, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing. A convoy of unicorns burst into the clearing, led by a young male. Dancing Moon was keeping very close to him, but she veered away as soon as she saw Ginny.

"Are you all right?" she asked, worriedly.

"I… I'm not sure," Ginny answered, shakily. The reality of what had just happened hit her suddenly, and she turned abruptly, vomiting into the nearby bushes. They were blackened and torn, both by the webs the creatures had created and the blasts of the unicorns. "I'm alive, at least."

The male leader neighed impatiently. "Battle Star asks, who is the human male with you?" Dancing Moon translated.

"His name is Malfoy," Ginny said. Malfoy looked at her sharply when he heard his name. Feeling that she should probably do introductions both ways, she added, "Malfoy, this is Dancing Moon. We met under circumstances that don't concern you."

"Are you alone?" Dancing Moon asked her, not acknowledging Malfoy.

Ginny shook her head. "Our teacher should be here soon," she said. Sure enough, a loud crashing heralded the coming of Hagrid. He burst into the clearing, red faced and sweating, holding his cocked crossbow ready. He stopped dead when he saw the unicorns. His eyes traveled from Malfoy to Ginny to Dancing Moon to Battle Star and his battalion of unicorn then down to the bodies of the two monsters. He stared at the bodies.

"What in God's name _are_ those things?" he demanded.

"You're into monsters," Malfoy answered, still a little shakily. "Why don't you tell us?"

Hagrid ignored him, looking back up at Ginny.

"Tell him that Battle Star wishes to speak to him," Dancing Moon told Ginny in response to the leader's imperious whinny. Ginny conveyed the message, then waited as Battle Star began a discourse in unicorn tongue. Dancing Moon waited until he was through, then began to translate. As she spoke, Ginny repeated her words out loud.

"She says, the monsters came about a month ago. None of them know what they are, but they've been watching them carefully. She says that this is the first time the monsters have actually attacked anyone, but they suspected that it was only a matter of time. She wants to know if you can do anything about them. They'd rather not take the matter into their own hands – sorry, horns – again, but they will if they must."

Hagrid looked at her in shock. "How?" he began. Dancing Moon snorted sharply.

"She says, don't worry about that right now. I'll explain it to you when we have time, I promise. They want to know your answer."

Hagrid sighed. He suddenly seemed to remember the cocked crossbow in his hands, and busied himself with taking the arrow off the string.

"She says don't do that," Ginny told him. "They don't know if there are any more around."

Hagrid nodded, and looked up again. "Tell 'er that I don't know yet what to do. I'd better take these two in an' study 'em first. Maybe that'll give me an' idea of what they are."

"They're spiders with human heads," Malfoy said scornfully. His face was still dead white, but he was starting to regain some of his poise. Ginny looked at him with disgust. "How much more do you need?"

Hagrid ignored him, still staring at the monsters. "An' I've got to tell Dumbledore. Maybe he'll know what they are."

Ginny nodded. She pulled out her wand and dropped down next to the monster. Holding the wand as a defense in case it wasn't quite dead, she examined it. It was even more hideous from close up. Its teeth shone wetly in the moonlight, pointed and cruel. Its human face was streaked with filth, and one of its pincers twitched every so often. She shuddered and backed up quickly.

"Tell your teacher that we will hold a council to decide what to do," Dancing Moon instructed. "I will call you when we reach a decision."

Ginny nodded and relayed Dancing Moon's message. "Let's get out o' here," Hagrid said, nodding gruffly to Dancing Moon and Battle Star. "Dumbledore'll want to know this as soon as possible."

The unicorns melted back into the forest. Dancing Moon bowed her head to Ginny, and Ginny smiled at her. Her smiled trembled, but she willed it to still. She turned back to Hagrid. "Let's get out of here." With the departure of the unicorns, the last of the adrenaline was leaving her system, and she felt dangerously close to fainting. The forest was suddenly as alien as it had been for the last four years of her life, and she wanted nothing more than to leave and never come back.

"I agree," Malfoy said. Both were too shaken to internalize his words, and neither one reacted to the fact that he'd actually agreed with her. "You shouldn't have made us come in here in the first place. I could get you fired for this!"

"Shut up," Hagrid snapped. "Ginny, can you find yer way out without me?"

Ginny nodded. "I think so."

"Good. Go back to the castle and fetch Dumbledore he'll want to know about this."

She nodded again, and turned swiftly back towards the path. Fifteen minutes later, she and Malfoy had emerged into the grounds proper. Malfoy sped off towards the castle without even looking back at her. She grimaced, but couldn't really blame him. Even attuned to the forest as she was, then encounter had been terrifying. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him.

Angrily, she shook the thought out of her mind. In its place, she saw the monster advancing on her again. She took off in her turn, running towards the castle at top speed. She burst through the doors and up to the gargoyle. There, she stopped. She had no idea of the password. "Let me in!" she gasped. "It's important!"

The gargoyle didn't move. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Still not entirely free of the visions of monstrosities, she drew her wand and spun around, turning to face the monster that she half-expected. As she did so, she noticed for the first time that her hands and clothes were splattered with black blood and gore. She shuddered convulsively, and swayed, her vision graying.

"Miss Weasley," a sharp voice said. "What has happened?"

Dimly, she recognized the voice as Dumbledore's. "Hagrid. Monsters. Help," she managed, then fainted onto the stone floor.

* * *

_Author's note 2: Yo give credit where it's due, the spider monsters belong to Tamora Pierce. Go read her series, 'The Immortals,' it's pretty fun stuff... -grins-  
--Tamara _


	23. 9: tempest 4

_Author's note: a short one, since i played Wii too long today and now my entire right arm and shoulder aches... -sigh- uh, and, actually, i have nothing to say, except to thank, as always, our loyal reviewers. we love you all!  
Disclaimer: -insert witty disclaimer here-  
--kyra

* * *

_

In the aftermath of the detention, I returned temporarily to being a semi-recluse. I stayed in my study, trying my best to banish all thoughts of the monsters that had almost killed me. That had almost killed _us_. It was hard to forget the Weasley girl. I hated her, of course, but there was no denying that she had been there, and that she'd tried to save me. Her spell had gone wide, but she'd tried. Unlike me, who'd frozen with the terror of the moment. I wondered if I would ever be able to live it down.

Professor Snape didn't mention it to me, but I could see him watching me during the advanced classes twice a week. I refused to meet his gaze, and instead concentrated on whatever he'd assigned us for that particular day. My project with Granger was almost finished, and both of us were feverishly excited about it. Granted, she showed it far more than I did, but that's just who I am.

I carefully avoided any mention of the monsters around Harry. Pansy and Blaise knew, and both had been sworn to secrecy. Even Pansy, gossip-addict that she is, kept silent about it. I knew that she was dying to talk, but she kept her word. I didn't know how to express my gratitude, and so didn't, but I hope that she understood how much her silence meant to me.

Still, I suppose that it was foolish to imagine that he would never hear about it. The Weasley girl was kept in the hospital wing for two days, after all, and he must have wondered about it. The fact that I didn't mention anything probably gave him the final clue he needed. He knew me better than I realized, and he'd watched me closely in October.

It wasn't until a week later that he finally asked me, though. He slipped me a note in Transfigurations. As was our custom, it was both brief and unsigned. If any of them fall into the wrong hands, they won't get too much information. They'll get more than either of us would like, but not enough to convict either one of us. There are certain risks that you have to take, but we did our best to be careful.

_Meet me in the Room tonight after dinner._

I caught his eye and nodded briefly, forcing a sneer onto my face. Weasley looked at him in askance, and he murmured something that appeared to satisfy the boy. At least, he stopped looking at Harry in curiosity and started glaring at me as though I were a slug. I ignored him; I've gotten used to it.

We ignored each other pointedly for the rest of the day. For me, at least, it sped by. I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Most days, when I'm looking forward to time with him, classes drag on for ages. But that day, it seemed almost no time at all until I was walking past the tapestry on the third floor three times. I stepped through the resulting door, only to find him already there, waiting for me. He smiled as I came through, but his eyes were troubled. I sat, bracing myself for the conversation that I knew was about to follow.

Sure enough, "What happened in the forest?"

I briefly debated the benefits of playing dumb. Though they were appealing, they were far outweighed by the negatives, and I doubted my ability to pull it off in such a way as not to make him furious. With most people I can act anything, but not with him. I never have been able to, and with his admitting his love, it became utterly impossible.

With a sigh, I said, "We went in, we met monsters, we fought the monsters, we ran out screaming. Why do you ask?"

"What kind of monsters?" he asked anxiously.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Big spiders with human heads."

He frowned. Before he could say anything more, I added, "Look. It's over and all of us are alive, and those monsters aren't. In the long run, that's all that matters, isn't it?"

His frown only deepened. "You could have been killed," he said fiercely.

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me for taking risks," I said dryly. "Are you the only one allowed to do it, then?"

I instantly regretted my words. His face closed over, and his eyes dropped to a rapt contemplation of his hands. "It's different for me," he said quietly.

"Is it?" I should have changed the subject then and there, of course, but for someone who prides himself on reading other people's character, I can be remarkably dense at times.

"Yeah," he answered, still not looking at me. "I have to. You don't."

I snorted disdainfully. "Harry, I think that you're not thinking properly. All of us have to fight this time, you know that. Whether it's the Dark Lord or his monsters, it doesn't matter. All of us have _something_ to battle."

He looked up sharply. "You think they were Voldemort's?" he demanded.

I grimaced. I hadn't intended to admit _that_ suspicion to anyone. "I don't know," I said honestly. "It's probable, though."

His eyes dropped back down to his lap. "Then it's my fault," he said miserably. "He sent them to get me. Is the only thing I can do is get my friends killed?"

I looked at him sternly. "Harry, you know perfectly well that that's not all you do. And it might not be you that he's after."

"Who else?"

"Me. Weasley. Granger. Professor Snape. Dumbledore. There are a hundred people in this school that the Dark Lord would want eliminated. It's not always you, you know."

"In the long run, I'm the one he wants," Harry countered.

I sighed. "Look," I said, doing my best to soften my tone of voice. "We're all right, it'll be fine." He looked utterly miserable, and I couldn't find it in myself to be angry with him any longer. I don't think that I ever really was; I was just reacting to his accusations.

"But you were attacked," Harry told me, still not looking up. "You were attacked by Voldemort's monsters and I couldn't save you."

We were back to that, were we? "You can't always be there for me, Harry." Me and my big mouth. His face fell even further, and his voice was little more than a despaired whisper.

"But I wasn't even there right after."

"I didn't tell you. How could you have known?"

"I should have been able to tell."

I reached over and touched his hand. He clutched it, and I said soothingly, "Harry, we all have our own lives to live. I need you as my partner, not my mother." I grimaced slightly. "I already have a mother, after all."

He didn't laugh, but his mouth twitched slightly into a matching grimace. Heartened by this, I went on. "I don't need that from you. I need you to be my friend and my partner."

"But why me?" he demanded.

I smiled sweetly at him, for once with no trace of cynicism. "Because I love you, Harry."

He stared at me, finally raising his eyes to meet mine. He didn't say anything, but stood up and moved closer to me. I stood as well, and we embraced tightly. I could feel the fear he'd felt in his grip, and I felt so ashamed that I hadn't seen it before. I don't know what he felt in my arms, but he didn't let go for a long moment. When he finally did, his eyes were bright with love and unshed tears. He wiped them off with his sleeve, and I realized with a start that my own eyes were slightly moist. I blinked hard, banishing the moisture. I'd cried enough this year to last me an entire year.

He glanced at his watch, then grimaced and looked back up. I looked at my own. Almost curfew. We had to get back to our respective dormitories soon, or Filch would have two more students to torture. He smiled a little sadly at me, then reached up and drew me into a long, slow kiss. I answered his with my own, and we stood there for a long, timeless moment. We separated again, and left the Room together. He turned to me in the hallway.

"I'll see you, then," he said.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. He smiled one last time at me, then headed off towards the Gryffindor common room. I watched him leave, then turned myself and walked briskly towards the dungeons, knowing that I was going to catch hell from Pansy when she found out and not caring a wit.

* * *

I didn't really dare hope that he'd remembered. After all, there was a lot of stuff going on with both of our personal lives, not to mention school, mass breakouts, and mysterious monsters. I couldn't really expect a birthday present as well. Even so, I was very slightly disappointed when he didn't even notice me in the hallway. Of course, we never really communicated in the halls, but he didn't even acknowledge me. I tried to contain my disappointment as I walked with Blaise to Astronomy. We'd been alternating day and night classes, and both of us agreed that it was rather stupid. Still, we weren't the ones who'd made the schedule, and we had no choice but to follow it.

Both Pansy and Blaise had given me token gifts that morning, and I was grateful for that much. Even better was the knowledge that I was now officially of age. I didn't need a guardian, and it didn't matter if both of my parents were on the run or not. I could access all of my money, my share of the fortune, and strike out on my own. It was the best gift I'd ever been given, and I spent most of the Astronomy class period planning different methods of striking out. I supposed that I should start with a house. There was no way that I was going to spend my life at the Manor, after all. A small flat in muggle London, maybe. Not too far away from the Ministry, but not too close either. I was actually mentally designing what it would look like when the hour rang. I realized that I had absolutely no idea what had just been covered.

"Do you want my notes, Draco?" Blaise asked, when I pointed that out.

I shrugged. "If you're willing to let me copy them."

"Well there's no one else to ask," he said practically. "Meet me at lunch."

We separated met up with Pansy then, and the three of us walked to Transfiguration together. McGonagall was officially my least favorite teacher, and the only reason I was attempting to pass her class was that I'd already made it this far. I doubted that I would be taking it again next year. The period dragged on, with all of us trying, with varying degrees of success, to repair the tears in the dummies that she'd provided. We were studying Healing, something I have no interest whatsoever in, and barely any of us managed to smooth the tears seamlessly back together. Neither Harry nor Weasley could manage, and even Granger appeared to be having some trouble, for once. My own dummy stayed stubbornly torn, and I glowered at it in frustration. McGonagall sniffed at it, and swept on. I was grateful that she didn't take any more points away: she'd taken enough away to last the rest of the year and next as well.

"By the way, Draco," Pansy said, when McGonagall had passed on. "What are you going to do tonight?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered.

She rolled her eyes. "For your _birthday_, Draco. Are you going out?"

"I wasn't going to, no," I said.

She smirked. "Two of us are of age now," she pointed out. "And I'm sure Blaise wouldn't mind chaperoning, would you?"

Blaise grimaced. "If you two are going to get drunk to celebrate…" he cautioned.

She laughed. "Not _very_ drunk," she said lightly. "Just enough to mark the occasion."

"I don't think so, Pansy," I interjected. "Maybe some other time."

She looked disappointed. "Neither of you know how to have a good time," she pouted.

Blaise and I traded glances, and wisely kept silent.

The day crept past. By the end of Potions, I was seriously beginning to consider Pansy's offer. It would mean getting out of the castle, after all. But at the end of the class, Harry came up to me. He didn't speak, but deftly pressed something into my hand. I waited until everyone had left the classroom to look at it.

_Meet me before dinner in the RR._

I crumpled the note quickly, disposing of it in the bin on my way out. Pansy's idea would have to wait another day.

* * *

I arrived at the Room of Requirement after Literature. Harry was waiting for me, and he grinned as he saw me. "I'm glad you came," he whispered.

"So am I," I answered. "Shall we?" I nodded towards the tapestry, and followed him up and down the three necessary laps. He pulled me through the door, and into what looked like an informal dining room. A small table with two chairs was set in the middle, set with matching plates and silverware. It was bare of food, but I knew Hogwarts well enough to realize that it wouldn't be so for long.

He pulled the chair farthest away from the door out for me, and I sat, watching as he took his place opposite me. "What's this all about?" I asked, gesturing to the Room in all its glory.

He looked at me in surprise. "Have you forgotten?" he asked anxiously. "It's your birthday, isn't it?"

My eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "Actually, Harry, it was last week."

He looked horrified. "I was so _sure_!" he burst out. He looked at me desperately. "I'm so sorry," he managed.

I gave in to my urge to laugh. "Don't be silly, Harry!" I gasped. "_Of course_ it's today!"

He looked infinitely relieved, and I felt a little guilty about teasing him.

"Don't _do_ that to me!" he exclaimed. "You had me believing you!"

"I'm sorry," I told him earnestly, trying to restrain my mirth.

"No you're not," he said bluntly. "I'll forgive you anyway, though."

I smirked. "Of course you will. So, are you actually going to feed me, or are we just here to admire the décor?"

He shrugged. "Which would you rather?"

"I like the décor," I said, looking straight at him. He blushed a delightful shade of scarlet when he realized what I meant, and hurriedly closed his eyes. Food appeared on the serving dishes, and I snickered at him.

He threw up his hands in defeat, and then deftly served me. I grinned at him, and began to eat. Once again, I sent a heartfelt thanks to my metabolism. It's always been fast, and it has served me innumerable times.

Finally, though, neither one of us could eat any more. I felt pleasantly stuffed, and he seemed to be feeling the same. A bottle of wine had materialized without my realizing it, and we'd both consumed rather more than we should have. I realized that it didn't taste as vile as I'd thought, and wondered idly about stocking my as yet unpurchased apartment with a decent wine cellar.

The table had cleared itself of all food, and our chairs seemed to have moved closer together during the meal. We were almost touching now, and Harry reached over to stoke my hair out of my face. I smiled at him, and his eyes seemed to be boring holes into my soul.

"No birthday present?" I said, a little weakly.

He laughed, though his eyes didn't lose much of their intensity. "Isn't dinner enough?" he asked huskily. "No? Well how about this?" He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to mine. I closed my eyes in bliss, and deepened the kiss. We stayed that way for a long, wonderful moment, then he pulled away. "Well?"

I grinned, a little shakily. "I love it," I told him honestly. "It's the best birthday present anyone's ever given me."

His eyes lit up. "Is that so?" he asked. "Then I suppose that this won't matter, will it?" He summoned an object, and handed it to me. It was the model of a broom. I studied it for a long moment, then squinted at it to see the maker. Firebolt. I gasped.

"Harry," I whispered. "Are you…?"

"Giving you my Firebolt?" he asked, grinning. "No." He waited for my face to fall, which it didn't hesitate to do. "I'm giving you _your_ Firebolt."

I stared at him, then down at the model in my hands. "Where?" I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

He took the model back, and tapped it with his wand. It grew steadily until it was the size of a usual broom. I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched it grow. I'd dreamed of having a broom like that ever since they came out. My father had informed me that I had a perfectly good broom, and that it was foolish to buy a new one, but I hadn't been able to stop dreaming.

He was looking at me, and I realized all of a sudden that I could wait to try my new broom out.

* * *

Harry woke around four in the morning. He looked over his shoulder in the light of the moon, seeing Draco's sleeping form sprawled out next to him. He was struck with incredible tenderness, and amazement at the beauty of the blond boy. His features were so delicate, not feminine, but sharp and well defined. Harry reached over and stroked Draco's hair softly, loving the feel of its silky texture. He adored Draco's hair, had done from the first moment he touched it. He marveled again at how he could have ignored Draco's good side for all those years. He must have been quite stupid, and highly unobservant to have dismissed Draco so easily. He gently caressed the other boy's face, adoring the small smile that crept over Draco's features at the touch.

He didn't know how long he lay there, stroking Draco, but eventually the newly seventeen-year-old wizard opened his eyes. He smiled at Harry. "What time is it?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. He glanced at his watch, but it was too dark to read it. He wished that he could tell the time by the position of the moon, but neither Trelawney nor Sinistra had covered that aspect of the heavens.

Draco too looked at his watch. He frowned, then closed his eyes. A moment later, a clock appeared in front of him. He glanced at it, then put it on the table. "Quarter 'till five," he announced.

"We _so_ broke curfew," Harry said, grinning.

"Then we'll just have to stay here until morning, won't we?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. He didn't feel tired anymore, and a strange alertness was coming over him. There was only one thing he wanted to do with Draco.

"Do you want to try out your broom?"

Draco's eyes lit up, but then he frowned. "What about you?"

Harry shrugged. "I can get mine, or I can ride yours."

Draco considered it carefully. "Get yours," he said finally. He grinned at Harry. "Not that I'd mind terribly if you rode mine, you understand. It's just that I'd love to race you, and it's hard to race your own broom."

Harry nodded. "Give me fifteen minutes," he said. He rose languidly, dressed hastily, and stepped out into the passage. It had been years since he'd gone out after hours with neither cloak nor map. He felt a strange kind of exhilaration at the prospect, and set off towards Gryffindor tower with a delicious feeling of danger. It was a totally different danger than the kind posed by Voldemort, and he courted this kind willingly. God, he'd missed this! He decided, in the future, to make a point not to always rely on his tools, but to try it sometimes on his own, relying only on his natural skills. It would be good training if he wanted to be an Auror.

All too soon, he found himself at the entrance to Gryffindor tower. He hissed the password to the Fat Lady, who opened, grumbling. The common room was deserted, just like it always was at this time of night. Cat-quiet, Harry stole up the stairs to the dormitory, and pushed the door open. Swiftly, he crossed to his bed, and reached underneath. He grasped his Firebolt in triumph, and pulled it out from underneath. He froze as Ron turned over, but his friend emitted a snore, and Harry realized that he was still asleep. Carefully, Harry reached into his trunk and pulled out a pair of gloves for him, and one for Draco. The room would provide them with the rest of their clothes, but Harry had realized that it had a few problems with the more delicate things. He walked back down the stairs, fighting the urge to run. The Fat Lady looked at him irritably, but kept her mouth shut. Harry walked faster and faster until he almost broke into a sprint. He narrowly avoided Filch, and arrived at the entrance to the Room of Requirement out of breath and triumphant. He stepped through, and grinned at Draco, his heart still pounding with adrenaline.

Draco raised an eyebrow in that way he had. "What have _you_ been doing?" he queried.

Harry's grin widened. "Breaking curfew without the help of any tools," he answered. "God, I haven't done that in _ages_!"

Draco laughed. "Did you get it?" he asked. "Or did you enjoy your escapade so much that you forgot the reason for going."

"As if I would forget!" Harry said, indignantly. "It's right here!" He held up his broom, the double of Draco's, though less polished and new. "Shall we go?"

Draco eyed the window carefully. "Can we get out through there?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. It's big enough."

Draco's eyebrow went up again. "Personal experience?"

"Lucky guess." He pulled out the gloves and handed a pair to Draco. Draco pulled them on wordlessly, then opened the wardrobe in the corner. He pulled out two thick black cloaks and tossed one to Harry. Harry caught it deftly and pulled it on over his clothes. They each picked up their broom and stepped over to the window. Harry pulled it open, and climbed out onto the ledge. He mounted his broom and pushed off, feeling the wind streaming through his hair and over his face. Draco wasn't far behind, and he was laughing in exhilaration.

"I'll race you to the Quidditch Pitch!" he shouted.

"You're on!" Harry yelled back. He bent over his broom, reducing wind resistance and sped towards the pitch. Both boys were accomplished flyers, and Draco had even more experience than Harry did, but Harry knew his broom better than he knew himself, and he coaxed every ounce of speed out of it. Even so, he only beat Draco by a few seconds. Draco pulled out his wand and cast a temporary ward around the pitch, then turned to Harry.

"Teach me how to fly this thing!"

Harry grinned, and set about explaining everything that a Firebolt could do.

They returned to the Room of Requirement as the sun was just cresting the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forrest. Both were exhausted, but incredibly content. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. Draco was looking positively radiant, and he cast Harry a delighted glance as they cleaned themselves up.

"That was amazing, Harry!"

"It's a great broom, isn't it?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, but that wasn't what I was referring to," he said patiently. "I meant, _you_ were amazing!"

Harry grinned, remembering the sessions of double flying. He'd never done it before, and hadn't expected to like the sensation. With anyone else, he would have hated it, but he felt so comfortable with Draco that it had been as much an act of love than an exercise.

"So were you," he told Draco. They grinned at each other, then moved closer as though it had been planned. Draco reached out and touched Harry's face, tracing his scar and following the path down the bridge of his nose and over his lips. Harry shivered violently at the touch, aching for more. He brought his own hand up and ran it through Draco's hair. It was the Slytherin's turn to shiver, and they came together in a possessive, almost desperate motion. Harry kissed Draco fiercely, trying to delay their parting through his passion alone. Draco returned the kiss as intensely, and they clung together like the only survivors of a shipwreck, as though they only had each other.

Slowly, sadly, they pulled apart. "You're so beautiful," Harry told Draco earnestly.

"So are you," Draco answered. Harry felt his heart warm, as it always did when Draco said it. He resisted the urge to kiss Draco again, glancing at his watch in dismay. There wasn't time for more, and both knew it.

"We'll come back tonight," Draco stated.

Harry nodded. "Of course," he said. They touched hands one more time, letting the contact say all that words couldn't, then stepped through the door and into the hallway.

* * *

The day of the Quidditch Cup final dawned, bright and cool. I grinned as I pulled the curtain open, allowing the sunlight to stream through the study. I still hadn't forgotten the loss at the beginning of the season, and I was bound and determined to steal the Quidditch Cup back from Gryffindor. They'd had it for too long. The rest of Slytherin House felt the same way, and there were many shouts of, "Give 'em hell, Malfoy!" as I descended down to the Great Hall. Harry was already sitting with his team, eating breakfast while talking quietly. I knew Harry well enough by now to realize that they were discussing strategy, and I gathered my own team around me to do the same.

"We need to count on their Chasers to be strong," I warned. "They always are. Bulstrode, Jones, you concentrate on getting as many of them as possible. Try to be discreet. Mulhurn, you do your best to keep the Quaffle _out_ of the hoops. Throw it as far as you can, like we've been practicing. Drake, Pierce, Moon, get as many goals as you can. Don't be afraid to plow into them, though I would advise you not to do it too often."

Alex Mulhurn looked worried. "What about you?"

I grinned predatorily. "You worry about yourself, Mulhurn. I'll be fighting with Potter."

Millicent looked sharply at me, but once again refrained from commenting. She was getting on my nerves. "_What_, Bulstrode?"

"I didn't say _anything_, Malfoy!" she hissed.

I glared at her, but she looked pointedly away. "Anyone else?" I barked. No one spoke up, and I nodded. "Ten minutes." I stood and strode out of the room, leaving them to their own devices.

Once in the dressing room, I changed slowly into my Quidditch robes, going over my own tactics as I did so. My main weapon was, of course, the broom. Harry knew that I could handle it properly, of course, but he didn't know that I'd been practicing. No one else knew that I had it, and I hoped that it would be enough to intimidate most of the Gryffindor team. Harry, of course, would be my only real problem, but I was convinced that I could beat him.

The rest of the team trickled in, and they looked in mute admiration at my broom. No one said anything, though, and we stepped out onto the pitch in silence. I saw the Gryffindors, resplendent in red and gold, come out at the same time, and grinned inwardly. They would be in for a surprise! We mounted and set off on our warm up lap. Dimly, I heard the commentator, another Gryffindor exclaim, "What's this? Malfoy's managed to find himself a Firebolt! _This_ will be an interesting game!"

There was a buzz from the stands as everyone craned their necks to get a glance at my broom, and I allowed the grin to come out onto my face. They were right: it _would_ be interesting. We landed, and Harry and I advanced to shake hands.

"You sure you know how to fly that thing?" Harry asked, nodded towards the broom. "It wouldn't be fair if you fell off because you couldn't control it."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Potter, but I learned from the best. I look forward to knocking you off your own."

He snarled at me, but I saw him acknowledge the compliment. We didn't wish each other luck, and we maintained hostile eye contact as we returned to our teams. This was serious, not a time for any kind of relationship, romance or not, but the one for being opponents. Madam Hooch gave her customary talk about how she expected all of us to play nicely, which no one on my team listened to. She knew that we weren't listening, either, and directed most of her words in our direction. Finally, she blew the whistle. I shot up into the air, still not over the speed at which the Firebolt managed to go from zero to I don't even know how many. Harry and I faced each other high above the rest of the players, hardly paying them any attention. We circled the pitch like vultures, searching for the elusive snitch.

As far as I could gather from the after-game chatter, it was a fast-paced game. There were numerous fouls on both sides, and Madam Hooch even stopped the game several times to shout at people. The Gryffindors were playing brilliantly, but, though they were good, we were better. They work well as a team, but several of their players aren't brilliant at what they do. Harry really is the life of the team, and I can't remember the last time they won a match without him. Slytherin, on the other hand, is composed of six excellent players and myself. I picked them for skill, not connections, and, though there was substantial grumbling at first, our winning streak had turned the tables in my favor. Mulhurn was a _much_ better Keeper than Weasley, and his habit of popping up right in front of the Chasers severely unnerved them and caused them to miss easy shots. Millicent and Jones were working (finally!) as a team, concentrating their efforts on knocking out the opposing Chasers. The Gryffindors were good, but they were getting tired and bludgers show no mercy. Our chasers weren't ideal, though they were the best Slytherin House had to offer, and it was really only Weasley's pathetic playing that kept us ahead. Even so, we had a comfortable lead.

Harry called a time out. I dived down and met my team on the field, looking them over. "Mulhurn, good work. Keep doing that, but be careful. If they catch on, then it'll be much less effective. Keep them off balance. Pierce, Drake, Moon, shape up! You're bigger than they are; use it to your advantage! Bulstrode, Jones, keep concentrating on the Chasers. If we can knock them out, then we're in good shape."

Everyone nodded. We rose back into the air, and faced the Gryffindors once again. Whatever Harry had said appeared to have revitalized his team, because they were working together again, doing their best to ignore us. Unfortunately, people the size of Pierce, Moon, and Drake are hard to ignore. Time and time again they stole the Quaffle from the Gryffindors and threw it through the hoops. Slowly, our lead increased. Harry was getting desperate, and I knew as well as he did that, unless he caught the snitch within moments, it wouldn't matter. I swooped up next to him.

"Scared yet, Potter?"

"Of _you_? Never!"

"You'd sound better if you were winning, you know."

"I don't need to listen to you!"

I veered off again, making a rude gesture at him as I did so. And suddenly, there it was! Hovering directly in front of me. I leaned forwards, but Harry had seen me move, and as the snitch darted away, he locked onto it. We were flying neck to neck, and I could hear his labored breathing as he strained to pass me. I was gripping the handle of the broom with my left hand, and I flashed him a merry grin. I scooted forwards, still keeping my death grip on the handle, and grasped the snitch, tumbling off the front as I did so. Only the strength of my left hand kept me from plummeting to the ground, and my muscles screamed as I tightened my grip. I was falling, though not too fast, and I knew that if I could only keep holding on, I would land safely.

The descent seemed to take forever. Finally, as my feet brushed the grass, I let go. My muscles were tight with the effort of holding on, and I knew that they would cramp wickedly very soon. The broom dropped to the ground next to me, and I fell to me knees as the full impact of landing hit. Harry landed next to me. His face was utterly furious.

"What the _hell_ did you do?" he roared.

I looked up at him. "I caught the snitch and won the game, Potter. What does it look like?"

He glanced around, then lowered his voice and hissed, "You could have died!"

"No. I could have broken several bones, but I put my trust firmly in Madam Pomfrey's healing skills."

He still looked unconvinced, but he didn't continue the conversation. Instead, he turned on his heels and strode away, returning to his team.

Millicent walked over to where I was sitting, and nodded shortly. "Impressive, Malfoy," she said. She walked away before I could formulate a response. Slowly, I stood and made my way slowly over to Madam Hooch. I gave her the snitch, and she looked at me sharply as I did so.

"You took a risk, Mr. Malfoy. It could have turned out badly."

I shrugged, ignoring the pain that shot up my cramping arm. "Quidditch is risks. I learned that the moment I learned how to fly."

She eyed me closely, but only said, "Poppy will have something for that." She nodded at my arm. I left her company and walked over to the sea of green. I was swept up by my housemates, and we marched back to the common room, shouting loudly and singing 'Weasley is our King' at the top of our lungs. We passed Harry in the hall, and he shot me a fierce glare. I doubted that we would meet that night. Harry's rather competitive when it comes to Quidditch.


	24. 10: ending 1

_Author's note: well, it's that time of year again. june, time for harry's inevitable confrontation with voldemort. -shakes head- he really can't stay out of trouble, can he?  
Disclaimer: all i own is a furry monkey of a brother who is annoying the f-cking hell out of me right now.  
--kyra

* * *

_

10: ending

When Harry didn't show up for breakfast, I started getting worried. We'd established a ritual over the past few months: both of us would show up for breakfast, and a single moment of eye contact would be exchanged, carefully. We couldn't speak, or even smile at each other, but the sheer physical presence of the other was reassurance. That morning, the reassurance was gone, and I felt its lack acutely.

Pansy tried to convince me that nothing was wrong. "Posterboy's probably just doing homework," she said. "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean that something drastic has happened."

I frowned. "I suppose," I said slowly, trying to convince myself that she was right.

"Good," she said briskly. "Now, we have a very important Herbology class to attend, so finish up quickly."

I raised an eyebrow. Pansy showing enthusiasm for any class was about as disturbing as Harry's absence.

"Cho Chang's going to tell Padma Patil whether she'll go out with her or not," Pansy said impatiently.

That explained everything, of course. Cho Chang wasn't even in our year, but that didn't matter. I was sure she was more than capable of going down to the greenhouses before her own class. I could care less about both of them, of course, but I followed Pansy down the hallway to humor her. When we arrived at the greenhouses, I realized that Pansy wasn't the only one who wanted to witness what I was beginning to understand would be the social event of the week. Parvati Patil and her friend Lavender Brown were there, presumably to lend moral support to the Ravenclaw Patil in question. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones were trying to look as though they weren't interested, but both were quite obviously straining their ears to catch the slightest detail. Millicent Bulstrode had managed to pull off perfect nonchalance, but Pansy shot her a knowing glance. Several Ravenclaw girls that I didn't know, both older and younger, were milling around, accompanied by what looked to be their clones in Hufflepuff colors. Ginny Weasley was talking to a blond Ravenclaw girl, and a Slytherin girl with bright green hair turned to smile at Pansy. Pansy extracted herself from me, and walked over to talk with the green-haired girl. I spotted Blaise at the other end of the crowd, and pushed through to reach him. He rolled his eyes at the exhibition of female excitement that we were witnessing. "Sad, isn't it?" he asked. "All of them are going to be late to class, and none of the teachers will care, because they all want to know too."

I nodded. "Wish Chang would just come and get it over with." But Chang was not coming. Or at least, she was taking her time about it. When she finally appeared, alone, I had to admire the way she parted the mass of girls like Moses parted the Red Sea. (I've heard that Muggles think that Moses was a prophet, but all he was was a wizard with an exceptional talent for locomotor charms.) Chang apparently had those same skills, as well as silencing ones, because the troupe of females went dead quiet as she entered. She walked over to where the Ravenclaw Patil was standing and whispered something. I could tell that she was trying to be quiet, but someone heard, and soon there was a sort of hushed murmuring as the girls all related Chang's words to the girl behind her. I didn't listen to what the murmur was saying, but the end result was fairly obvious, because it ended with Chang kissing Patil and all the other girls, Pansy included, erupting into deafening cheers. Finally, Chang left the scene, obviously going to her own class. Everyone else reluctantly streamed out, leaving a beat red Patil surrounded by the Ravenclaw girls of her own age. Pansy came to find us, and grinned evilly as Millicent dropped a small leather bag into her hand. It clinked satisfyingly as Pansy tucked it into the pocket of her robe.

But even the bemusement caused by this unusually visible female social event didn't last for very long. By the end of Herbology, I was back to worrying about Harry. By the end of Potions, which he hadn't come to either, I was getting seriously scared. Pansy, who was in the potions class with me, was at the end of her rope by that time, and she practically dragged me out of the classroom. "Look, Draco," she ground out. "Stop worrying! Maybe he's out saving the world again. It's the kind of thing he does at this time of year."

That drew a slight grin out of me, but it fell quickly. "What about Weasley and Granger?" I asked. "They're usually with him."

"Maybe he left them behind this year. _You_ know how much last year still affects him. He probably didn't want to take any chances."

Oddly enough, this frank appraisal gave me no comfort whatsoever. At least if Weasley and Granger had been with him, they'd have had a chance at protecting him. _They_, at least, have an instinct of self-preservation.

Pansy was obviously impatient again, because she said firmly, "Look, Draco. You want to know what's happening to your Posterboy, right?"

I nodded.

"Do you want to know badly enough to scry for it?"

I frowned at her. "Pansy, you know that I can't scry." I hadn't even attempted to take Divinations, a choice that I've never regretted.

"I didn't say _you_ should do it. I said, do you want to know badly enough to scry for it?"

"Can you do it?"

"No, but I know someone who can."

"Who?"

"Cassandra Newman."

"Who?"

She sighed. "You saw her earlier. She's a year younger than us. You know, the one with green hair."

"Ah, that one. And she can scry, can she?"

"Yes."

"How long will it take?"

"To find her, or to find him?"

"Both."

"Five minutes for the first, no clue for the second. Do you mind missing Arithmancy terribly?"

"Not at all."

"Good." She slipped away and, true to her word, came back five minutes later with the green haired girl in question.

"Draco, this is Cassandra Newman. Cassandra, Draco Malfoy."

Cassandra nodded gravely to me. Now that I could see her clearly, I realized that it wasn't just her hair that was green. Her eyes were as emerald as Harry's, and her fingernails were painted a soft shade of green. Her face was lightly tanned, and she moved in a slightly uncoordinated manner. "You said you wanted something?" she asked Pansy, in a soft, controlled voice.

Pansy shrugged. "A small favor," she said. "I want to know where someone is."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

Cassandra didn't seem surprised. In fact, she looked like the kind of girl who was never surprised by anything. She checked her wristwatch, then glanced out at the sun. "It's fifteen minutes 'till eleven," she announced. "Meet me in your study then, Pansy, and we'll see what the spirits choose to reveal." She swept away, managing to look regal despite the gawkiness of her limbs.

I watched her depart, then looked at Pansy. "Is she honestly for real?" I demanded.

Pansy nodded. "She's a bit dramatic sometimes, but she really can scry. Besides, once you get past the act, she's actually really nice."

"If you say so," I muttered skeptically.

She just shoved me towards the Slytherin common room. "She doesn't really like to be kept waiting," she said, by way of explanation.

I followed Pansy to her study, wondering how on earth I'd managed to miss Cassandra all these years. I mean floor-length green hair isn't really something that's easy to miss. But then, I didn't pay much attention to younger students. By the time you get to be about fifteen in the House of Snake, you've gotten your own study and you sleep in it, even though it's technically against the rules. Pansy was the girl's prefect, though, which would explain her friendship with Cassandra. Not to mention the fact that they'd shared a dormitory for a few years.

Slytherin House is predominantly male. Very few females are deemed worthy at the tender age of eleven, though I suspect that if the entire school was resorted when they were about, say, fifteen or sixteen, there would be a lot more of them. But, as that is not the case, it wasn't practical to build seven dormitories for the girls. In fact, there are only three: one for the first and second years, one for the third and fourth years, and one for the fifth and sixth years. By the time you reach seventh year, you have your own study, and that's where you sleep. One of the characteristics that the hat looks for is willingness to break the rules. But even though Pansy had slept in her study ever since she was fourteen and three quarters and Daphne Spice left under mysterious circumstances (everyone thinks that she went off to join the Death Eaters, but I have it on good authority that she's thriving somewhere in Spain, happily out-blasting the Chimeras that she works with), she still has a duty to check in on the other girls from time to time. At least she should probably know their names.

We entered the study in question, and I saw that there was someone in it. I frowned. The short brunette with the earlobe length hair and piercing violet eyes looked as though she _should_ be familiar, but I was absolutely sure that I'd never seen her before. Purple eyes are as distinctive as green hair, after all. The girl was wearing a long black dress and a cloak thrown carelessly over her shoulders. Its Slytherin green trim was quite obvious, and the crystal ball that she was holding rested on a wrought iron base painted emerald. Pansy grinned at her. "More practical that way, isn't it Cassandra?"

I blinked, and studied her carefully. Yes, it was Cassandra after all, but then how… "How did she do that?" I hissed when Cassandra's back was turned. Unfortunately, the fifteen-year-old girl appeared to have excellent hearing, because she answered me without turning around.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus. It runs in the family."

I nodded. That explained everything, of course, from why I'd never seen her before to how she'd changed so drastically.

"What's with the eyes?" I asked her, wondering if she would actually tell me.

"Purple is a color of magic, power, and deep spirituality," she said absently, carefully going over her crystal ball. "I find that these help me communicate with the mystic spirits."

I stifled a giggle. Pansy shrugged.

"Now, Pansy," Cassandra said, and her voice had gone from mystical to practical. "Come here and take my hand. This time, you won't be the anchor, I will. I'll provide the power, but _you'll_ be the one leading us, do you understand? I'll help you if you get into trouble, but you should be fine. Oh, and he has to leave."

I started to protest, but Pansy cut me off with a short shake of her head. "You wanted this," she mouthed.

I scowled, and stalked out of the room.

* * *

Pansy felt a bit bad about dismissing Draco so abruptly. After all, it was him who was desperate to know about Potter, not her, even if Potter didn't seem to have realized that enough to bother telling him where he was going. But she didn't have time to feel either angry with Potter for making her do this or nervous at what she'd agreed to do, because Cassandra was looking at her watch. "Thirty seconds," she said. "Concentrate on the Potter boy. Think about what you want to see. Two, one, go!"

Pansy concentrated on Potter. She saw his black hair, which she hated, and his green eyes, which she found disconcerting. She remembered Draco's obsession with the boy, and Potter's dismissal of her friend's feelings. And then, she saw him. It was a shock to finally see anything clearly in the orb. Last time, she'd been the anchor. She'd seen a little of what Cassandra saw, but it had mostly been as though she were looking through a very dirty window. This time, the window had been wiped clean, and she saw the scene almost more clearly than if she'd actually been there.

She could feel Cassandra next to her, but she didn't pay much attention to the psychic witch. She watched Potter instead. He was carefully walking through a hallway, looking straight forwards. There was a door at the end of the hallway, and Potter was concentrating only on that door. Finally, he reached it, and he hesitated fractionally before pushing the door open. The room wasn't empty. A small, rat-like man stood in the doorway. Potter pushed him aside without even looking. The rat like man shut the door again, and surreptitiously locked it. Potter advanced into the firelight, and then stopped. Pansy gasped when she realized what he was seeing: two figures, tied and suspended in midair. Both had very grubby blond hair, and frightened faces. The witch was crying softly, and the wizard was trying to look defiant. Potter didn't look at either of them, though they both stilled when they saw him. Potter appeared to be waiting for something, or maybe for someone.

And then, He came. Pansy knew instinctively who he was, though she'd never seen him before. It was impossible to see the bone pale face and gleaming red eyes and not know. She was face to face with Lord Voldemort. To his credit, Potter didn't back up. Voldemort looked the boy over, and chuckled softly. "So noble, Harry," he said, and his voice sent shivers of terror up Pansy's spine. "Coming all the way here to save the parents of a boy you hate."

Potter didn't answer.

"You've gotten here too late, though, haven't you?" Voldemort asked.

"It's never too late," Potter said steadily.

"Isn't it? Well, Potter, how very Gryffindor of you! But I'm afraid that you are, in fact, too late. Or rather, you're just on time. Wormtail!"

The rat like man looked up and bowed very low. "Yes, Master?"

"Harry here would like to witness our game. Make him comfortable."

Wormtail nodded, and then pointed a short, stout wand at Potter. He shouted a spell, and Potter found himself pushed into the chair behind him, with ropes appearing out of nowhere to bind him to it. Wormtail deftly drew Potter's wand out of the boy's grip. Potter struggled against the ropes, but they wouldn't give an inch.

Voldemort laughed, a high, chilling sound that made Pansy want to turn and run as fast as she could. But she couldn't. She had to see this through to the end, she'd promised Draco that she would find out what happened to Potter. Voldemort pointed his wand at the blond witch, and said, almost lazily, "Crucio."

The witch screamed, a high, desperate sound that went on and on, far longer than she should have been able to without breathing. Finally, the screaming died away, leaving only whimpering.

"Let her go!" Potter shouted. "She hasn't done anything to you!"

"She refused me her son!" Voldemort shouted back. "And _he_" here, he pointed his wand at the wizard, "failed me. They must be punished!"

"Please, Master!" the wizard began, but Voldemort silenced him ruthlessly. "You have no right to speak to me, Lucius! Your time of explanation is over, and now you shall pay for your failure."

"It was my fault that he didn't get the prophecy," Potter said. "Why don't you kill me instead?"

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," Voldemort said, almost gently. "I will. Trust me, I will. But tell me. Why did you come to save them? Surely they are your enemies, are they not?"

"They don't deserve this kind of death," Potter said, and Pansy had to admire his appearance of calm. Both she and Voldemort knew that he was utterly terrified, but he gave a very good show of not being.

"How do you know, Harry?" Voldemort demanded. "You don't know what they've done. Lucius here has killed more muggles and mudbloods than either of us can count. He's plotted your death with the rest of us. And Narcissa. Narcissa is weak. She cares nothing for herself. Her entire existence is spent slaving over her pathetic excuse of a son." Narcissa Malfoy uttered a squeal of anger, but she was silenced by the threat of Voldemort's wand.

"That's not weakness, _Tom_!" Potter said. "But you don't understand that, do you? You don't understand that caring only for yourself is your weakness, not your strength!" They were brave words, but they would have sounded better if he hadn't been wandless and tied to a chair.

"You are wrong, Harry!" Voldemort screamed. "You've listened to that old fool Dumbledore too long! He is wrong! It is my strength and your weakness that have brought us here today. You want to see strength? I'll show you strength!" He pointed his wand at Lucius Malfoy. "Crucio!" This curse was harder, more focused. Malfoy uttered a high-pitched shriek of agony. He writhed in midair, obviously trying to either stop the pain or strangle himself with the ropes. Voldemort laughed again, and reinforced the curse. Pansy wished she could cover her ears, but she forced herself to listen to the screams of the dying man. She owned it to Draco. Finally, Voldemort got tired of torturing Malfoy, and he cast the killing curse. If anything, the way he killed Malfoy was more frightening than the way he'd laughed as he tortured him. Finally, at long last, Pansy understood why Voldemort was the most feared Dark Wizard of all time. He truly didn't care about anyone but himself. His Death Eaters were nothing more than his toys, to be used as long as they could stand it, then disposed of. He wasn't human, and that made him infinitely more dangerous that Grindewald, or any of the other Dark Wizards before him.

"You see what I can do!?" Voldemort shrieked. "You can't do it, Harry! Admit that you can't do it!"

"No," Potter shouted back. "No, I can't. I can't kill a man in cold blood. And I'm bloody proud of it, Voldemort! _Tom!_ I'm proud to say that I've never deliberately killed anyone!"

He started laughing again. This was a long, dreadful hysteria that seemed to last as long as the screams. "Wormtail," he said when he'd recovered. "Wormtail, give Harry his wand back and set him free."

Wormtail looked amazed. "But, Master…"

"Silence! Do as I tell you!"

Wormtail sulkily returned Potter's wand to him and untied the ropes that had bound him to his seat. Potter stood, and Voldemort blasted the chair out of the way. "Now, go on Harry," Voldemort said. "Join us and make your first kill!"

"Are you offering yourself as the victim?" Potter demanded.

"If you like. But for your first time, I was thinking of an easier prey." He gestured at where Narcissa Malfoy was hanging, still looking at the body of her husband blankly.

"No!"

"Do it!"

"NO!"

"_Imperio!_"

Potter staggered. He raised his wand and opened his mouth. Then, with a tremendous effort, he closed it again. He closed his eyes and frowned. Then he lowered his wand and stared at Voldemort.

Voldemort frowned. "_IMPERIO!"_

Once again, Potter raised his wand, but this time, it seemed to be easier for him to bring it down again. "Didn't Crouch tell you, Tom?" he panted. "I learned how to throw off the Imperius curse when I was fourteen. _He_ taught me how to do it."

Voldemort shrugged. "There are other ways to bend someone to your will," he said. "And most of the time, they are more effective. _Crucio!"_

It was Potter's turn to scream, and Voldemort laughed yet again. When it was over, Voldemort asked, "Will you kill her now?"

"No!" Potter said. Voldemort cast the spell again. Pansy turned away, unable to bear any more, even for Draco's sake. After each curse, Voldemort asked Potter if he was willing to kill Narcissa yet. Even after he couldn't speak any more, Potter clung stubbornly to his silence. Pansy didn't know how much more he could take. He was badly weakened, and each bout of the curse took its toll. Pansy found herself wondering if someone could die from the Cruciatus curse. She was becoming more and more certain that they could.

Finally, when Potter was only barely clinging to consciousness, Voldemort screamed his triumph. "You see, Harry! You are _weak_! And now, let us see your true feelings! Let me show you just how similar we are!" Voldemort closed his eyes, and both he and Potter seemed to still. All at once, Voldemort staggered back. He screamed the terrible word again, putting all his power behind the last curse. Potter didn't even have the strength to scream, he curled up in a ball on the floor of the room, whimpering. Pansy strained to hear what he said. So softly that she wasn't sure she would have hear it through normal ears, she heard Potter murmur, "Forgive me." Then he slipped down and fell still.

Voldemort didn't seem to be happy that he'd reduced his enemy to nothing more than a shell of a boy, and he turned his wand on Narcissa Malfoy. The poor woman didn't have a chance. He blasted her out of existence and strode out of the room, Wormtail scuttling behind him

* * *

"Come out now."

Cassandra's voice shocked Pansy. She'd been sucked into the scene she'd witnessed to the point where she'd forgotten the other girl's presence. Now, with Cassandra's voice as a guide, Pansy came back to herself. Her hand was gripping Cassandra's with enough force to stop the blood flow to both of them, and she winced as she slowly unclasped it. Both of them were breathing heavily.

"Did you see?" Pansy asked.

Cassandra nodded. "Not as clearly as you, but I saw." Her face hardened. "The Dark Lord will pay for what he has done this day."

Pansy looked at her curiously. She hadn't thought Cassandra had that much of an opinion on the matter.

"I'm psychic, Pansy," Cassandra said. "I can't help receiving emotions. It's not something I can turn off. And I've looked in the orb. I know what he's done, but I'd never experienced it like this." She shuddered. "I intend to be among those who kill him."

"I have to tell Draco," Pansy said quietly. "He… he has to know what happened."

Cassandra nodded slowly. "I will come," she said. She turned to look in Pansy's mirror, and closed her eyes. As Pansy watched, her hair snaked back down her back, ending just past her waist. It darkened to coal black, and her skin paled. She grew, and an unaccustomed elegance and dignity seemed to settle into her features. When she opened her eyes, Pansy saw that they too were black. In her long dress and cloak, Cassandra looked much like a mourner priestess, which was, Pansy realized, exactly the effect she'd been going for.

Pansy opened the door, and looked out. Sure enough, Draco was sitting in the armchair, reading some book that Pansy didn't recognize. He looked up when he saw her, and at the expression on her face, his features took on a slightly terrified cast. "What is it?" he asked, moving over to her.

She stood aside and let him in. He stopped dead when he saw Cassandra. Pansy went to stand next to him, then thought better of it and made him sit down. He looked like someone prepared to hear very bad news, and she wondered if he thought she was telling him that Potter was dead. He'd be spared that pain, at least. "He's still alive," she said firmly.

Some of the tension on his face lifted. "Where is he?"

Pansy looked at Cassandra. "The catacombs of the Ministry of Magic," Cassandra said.

He looked about to leave, but Pansy stopped him. "Draco, wait. Listen to the whole story, please." She proceeded to tell him what she'd witnessed. When she was done, he was dead white, and she knew it had been a good idea to make him sit. As she watched, he began to tremble slightly. She wondered how long it would take him to recover this time. But then, he surprised her. He took a deep breath, then sat up straighter.

"We need to tell someone," he said, and though his voice was quiet, it was steady. "Someone needs to get him."

Cassandra nodded. "We will speak to Professor Dumbledore."

Draco looked at her clearly for the first time. He frowned. "She saw everything, Draco," Pansy cut in. "She'll know as much as I do. We might need her to find exactly where he is, too."

He nodded tightly. "Fine. Do either of you know the password for his office?"

Both girls shook their heads. Draco bit his lip. "We'll go see Professor Snape," he said finally. "He'll know."

It was a mark of how emotionally battered she was that Pansy didn't argue. Instead, she let Draco take charge, following as well as she could. All three of them ignored the people in the common room, and walked as fast as possible to the door. Pansy hexed the one boy stupid enough not to get out of their way.

* * *

I was numb. I didn't know how I should be feeling. My mother's death was a tragedy, but that Harry was alive was a miracle. The emotions tumbled through me as I ran to the dungeons, but I pushed them all aside. The only one I allowed to run free was anger. I boiled with it, and the heat of rage helped to stop the iciness of despair. I'd pushed everything under my control for Harry's sake. I had to be strong for Harry. I had to do what he would do, and not falter. I pounded down the stairs, the girls on my heels.

Thankfully, Professor Snape was in. I barged into his class of first years without knocking. He looked up, annoyed. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"We have to see Professor Dumbledore," I told him, quietly enough so that the first years wouldn't hear. "Immediately!"

"And why do you have to see the Headmaster?" Professor Snape asked coldly. He stood, looming over me, but I was angry enough not to care.

"Harry's hurt. He's somewhere under the Ministry of Magic, badly hurt. I need to tell Professor Dumbledore!"

Professor Snape might be irritating, cold, unapproachable, and just generally a mean person, but he's a good man to have in a crisis. He wasted no time on emotion, but dismissed his class and strode out of the dungeon. The three of us followed. I had to run to keep up with his long strides, and by the time we reached the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office, I was badly out of breath. Professor Snape spoke the password (Gummy Worm) and we ran up the winding stairs. We burst into Dumbledore's office, to find him talking with Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore looked at us in surprise.

"Severus," he said, nodding to Professor Snape. "What may I do for you?"

"These students insist that Potter is injured in the Ministry of Magic," Professor Snape said. "They _insisted_ on coming to speak with you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva," he said quietly. "Alert the Ministry staff who are on our side. Where is he?"

"He's in the catacombs," Cassandra said. "I couldn't pinpoint exactly where. I could try, if you like."

Professor Dumbledore nodded to McGonagall, who threw a pinch of floo powder into the hearth and stepped through. "Severus," Dumbledore said. "Fetch Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. This is something that they should hear, I believe."

Professor Snape nodded stiffly and swept out of the room. Dumbledore turned to the three of us. He raised an eyebrow at Cassandra. "Something a little less dramatic, I believe, might be in order, Miss Newman."

Cassandra sighed, and moved gracefully over to the mirror. She closed her eyes, and frowned. She seemed to shrink a little, and the awkwardness returned to her posture. Her hair grew even longer, until it brushed the floor again. Its dead straightness remained, but the color shifted subtly to a warm brown. Her skin regained some of its color, and a slight dusting of freckles popped up. She opened her eyes, and I saw that they were now green again. She glanced at Dumbledore, who shrugged. "I simply thought something that did not imply dark powers as much, Miss Newman," he said. "Attractive as the look is, it might not be properly appreciated in the present circumstances."

Cassandra nodded, then reached back and carefully parted her hair in two. She conjured up a brush and muttered some charm to enchant the brush to untangle her hair. She stood impassively as the brush did its job, then placed it in her pocket and pulled two hair ties off her wrist. She quickly bound her locks in two efficient pigtails, which stopped at about her ankles. She shook her head experimentally, then seemed satisfied.

Pansy had been watching enviously, and when Cassandra sat down, the two of them became engrossed in a discussion about the benefits of straight or curly hair. I could care less, and I turned to Dumbledore. He was watching me fixedly, and I knew that I was going to have a few questions to answer. He seemed to understand my reluctance to talk in front of the girls, because he stood and drew me into the shadowy corner of his office. "Mr. Malfoy," he said seriously. "I must ask you, what motivated you to give us this information?"

"You don't know the entire story yet, Professor," I said. "But I told you because I care about Harry and I want him to be safe."

I appeared to truly have surprised him. He looked at me closely for a moment, then asked carefully. "How long have you… cared about Harry?"

"Always," I said simply.

"And does he care about you?"

"I suggest you ask him that, Professor," I said. There was no way I was going to talk about me and Harry, not even to Professor Dumbledore. _Especially_ not to him. I got the feeling that he knew far too much as it was.

"I shall do so," he said gravely. At that moment, the door opened again, and Professor Snape pushed Granger and Weasley into the room. Weasley glared at all three of us, and Granger looked suspicious, but a little worried. She didn't look directly at me, for which I was grateful. After she'd stopped our communication, we hadn't spoken in any way, and I knew that she was a bit uncomfortable around me. Of course, she _was_ dating Weasley, which would account for some of that. If – heaven forbid! – I were dating Weasley, I would do my best not to interact with the public simply to save myself from the humiliation that he would cause.

Dumbledore nodded to Professor Snape, who moved to the back of the office and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't look ready to move. "Have a seat," Dumbledore told all of us. He flicked his wand, and three chairs appeared to sit next to the ones already containing Cassandra and Pansy. Granger and Weasley took the two next to each other, and I sat down next to Pansy. "Did Severus inform you why I wished to see you?" Dumbledore asked the two Gryffindors.

Granger shook her head, but Weasley demanded, "It's about Harry, isn't it? Something's happened to Harry."

Dumbledore nodded, and Weasley shot a burning glance in our direction. Pansy glared right back at him. Dumbledore seemed to ignore that, and he looked at Pansy. "Miss Parkinson," he said. "May I assume that you were the anchor?"

Pansy shook her head. "Cassandra was," she said.

"Then would you care to tell us about what you saw?"

Pansy took a deep breath, then recounted what she'd seen in Cassandra's orb. Granger and Weasley looked progressively more horrified as she went on, and when she finished, Granger was as white as Cassandra had been. Weasley, on the other hand, was turning bright red. I'd gotten him angry often enough to know the danger signs, and Weasley was very close to an explosion. And I was very certain who he would explode at. Sure enough, "Why's he sitting here?" Weasley demanded, pointing angrily at me. "He should be sent to Azkaban!"

"That's not fair!" Pansy said, coming to my defense. "He's the one who thought of actually telling anyone. We could quite easily just have hidden the facts until Potter died down there!"

"You're not brave enough to do that, Parkinson!" Weasley shouted. "When people found out what you'd done, they'd kill you!"

"But your Poster Boy would already be dead by then, wouldn't he?" she countered.

"And that has nothing to do with me," I added, feeling that I should talk for myself. "If the Dark Lord killed Potter, it wouldn't be my fault!"

"They were your parents!" Weasley bellowed. "If you hadn't screwed up so much, then You-Know-Who wouldn't have been able to get at Harry!"

"What my parents do has nothing to do with me!" I screamed back. "I wasn't there with them, was I?"

"Maybe you should have been! Then maybe he'd have killed you instead of Harry!"

There was a dead silence when everyone realized what Weasley had said. Very quietly, Granger asked, "He is alive, isn't he Professor?"

"He's alive."

The voice made all of us turn with a start. McGonagall had come into the room. She looked weary and disheveled, but she held herself as erect as usual. "We found him where Miss Newman said he was, Albus," she continued. "Arthur was the only one I could find on short notice, and he's taking the boy to St. Mungo's."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

"What shall you tell the students?" McGonagall asked.

"I do not know yet, Minerva," Dumbledore said tiredly. He turned to us. "Need I ask you not to mention this to anyone?"

All of us shook our heads. "When will we be able to visit him, Professor?" Granger asked.

"That is up to the Healers, not me, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently. "I am sure that Mr. Weasley will send you news as soon as he has it. Severus, I think you should escort you students back to their dormitories. I have still have things to say to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley."

Professor Snape nodded, then walked out of the room. Scowling ferociously, Pansy, Cassandra, and I followed him out onto the landing.

* * *

Hermione watched Snape lead the Slytherins out, absently admiring the way he moved. She was no longer embarrassed about her attraction to him, though she was nowhere close to admitting it to anyone else yet. When the door had shut behind them, she turned back to Professor Dumbledore. He was watching the two of them intently. Professor McGonagall had slipped out while Hermione wasn't looking, and she was left alone with the two males. Ron was still fuming from his confrontation with Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Dumbledore waited for a long moment, then said quietly, "I had hoped that you would have put House grudges out of your minds by now."

"It's not just a House matter, Professor!" Ron said defensively. "Malfoy's always hated us!"

"But you did nothing to break the cycle of hate," Dumbledore chided gently.

"Neither did he," Ron said sulkily. Hermione looked down, and stayed prudently silent. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was smarter than she was, and he turned to her.

"And you, Miss Granger? Do you believe that Mr. Malfoy hates you?"

She bit her lip, wondering how she could answer diplomatically yet truthfully. Finally, she said, "Well, Harry and Malfoy don't seem to hate each other as much as they used to." It wasn't quite an outright lie, more an outrageous understatement.

Ron looked mutinous. "Malfoy's still a git, though," he said.

"But you must admit, Mr. Weasley, that Mr. Malfoy did a very courageous thing in speaking up. Many would not have, and Mr. Potter would be dead at this time."

"He was only afraid of getting in trouble," Ron said darkly.

Hermione, hoping that Ron would forgive her, waded into the fray. "He could just have run off and joined You-Know-Who, though," she said. "He might have wanted to try and avenge his family name, but he didn't."

"Oh yeah?" Ron demanded. "His parents are dead! He can't really go up to You-Know-Who and say, 'Oh, hi. Do you have any vacancies?' You-Know-Who'd probably do us a favor and kill him too."

"Yes," Dumbledore said gently. "Or he would have embraced Mr. Malfoy and turned him into his most loyal supporter."

"But Malfoy wouldn't go to You-Know-Who," Hermione burst out again, unable to control herself.

"How do you know?" Ron demanded.

She took a deep breath. "We wrote to each other for a while," she said. "I'm sure you remember." Ron made a face, indicating that, yes, he did remember quite well. "You can tell who someone is through their letters. And, well, Malfoy was most definitely not someone who was going to run off and join the Death Eaters. He hates them as much as we do. And do you really think that You-Know-Who's killing of his parents is going to make him more eager to join them?"

"Why are you defending him?" Ron demanded.

"Because he doesn't deserve your bigotry, Ron," Hermione said tiredly. "And I'm not saying that I want to become his best friend. I'm just saying that I doubt he's going off to join the Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded wisely. "Well said, Miss Granger. And now, I must ask you. What do the two of you know about Mr. Malfoy's relationship with Mr. Potter?"

"They hate each other," Ron said instantly.

Dumbledore looked at both of them, and Hermione could have sworn that his expression was almost disappointed. She wondered just how much he suspected. Did he know? Hermione herself was not going to tell him, if he didn't. Unfortunately, he wasn't asking her, he was commanding her. "Miss Granger?"

She sighed. "I suppose they must have learned to tolerate each other, or they'd never leave the hospital wing again."

Dumbledore nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And when you communicated with Mr. Malfoy, what did you talk about?"

Hermione ground her mental teeth. He was trying to test her, and she didn't like it. But two could play at ignorance, and she answered, "Books. History. Muggle culture. Wizard traditions. Things I can't discuss with the boys." She shot a glance at Ron, who refused to meet her gaze.

Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Very well. I am sure that Mrs. Weasley will be coming to pick the two of you up and take you to the Burrow. We will speak again later. I suggest you start packing."

It was clear that they were dismissed. Both of them stood and left the room, leaving Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, his hands steepled and his eyes closed.

* * *

She should have been expecting it. It should have been totally obvious. But it wasn't. She hadn't been. And so the summons from Snape caught her completely by surprise. Ron, reading over her shoulder, groaned. "You're going to spend _more_ time in that basement?" he said.

She shrugged. "I can't very well write back and tell him no thanks, I'm not interested, can I?"

"I suppose not. But try not to be too long, okay? Mum's going to be picking us up around four."

She rolled her eyes. "Ron, it's eleven o'clock. I'll be done long before four. I'll see you at lunch."

She slipped out of the Great Hall, and walked slowly down to the dungeons, trying to control her thoughts. He was probably just telling her that her project was finished and that he had no more need of her services. There was no reason for her to feel like this. But she did. Every single time she walked down these hallways, her heart would speed up, and she would spend her time fighting a blush. She'd told herself over and over again that it was nothing but a schoolgirl crush, but it never helped. She supposed that she should be glad that it was almost summer. At least she'd get away from him.

When she finally arrived at the door to the classroom, she was as composed as she was ever going to get. She raised a hand and knocked on the door. A muffled voice told her to come in, and she pushed the door open and stepped into the familiar room. She looked around as she waited patiently for him to finish grading whatever paper he was on, reflecting, a little sadly, on how this had become one of her favorite areas of Hogwarts. Ron and Harry would think her insane. But there was something soothing about being underground. She liked the feel of the slightly damp air of the dungeons, and the stone walls made her feel safe.

When he finally looked up from his paper, he scowled. "Are you waiting for something, Miss Granger?"

"You sent for me, sir," she replied, fighting not to get angry. Just because she had a crush on him didn't mean that he didn't aggravate her, even after all this time.

"I expected you simply to barge in and demand my presence."

"You trained me out of that. Are you saying that you don't want me to follow your training, sir?"

He didn't answer, only gestured shortly for her to take a seat. She did as he suggested, and tried to stop herself from asking why he wanted her here. He would tell her on his own time, and she hated giving him excuses to ridicule her.

At long last, he said, "I suppose you realize that your project with Mr. Malfoy is now finished?"

She nodded.

"And am I correct in supposing that you both wish to leave it where it is and not continue to experiment?"

She nodded again.

"Have you lost all capabilities of speech, Miss Granger?"

She started to shake her head, then caught herself, and said, "I am quite capable of speech, Professor."

"Good. Now, there is one thing left undiscussed. What will you do next year?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure that I understand, Professor."

He snorted. "I am sure you understand perfectly well, Miss Granger. I do not wish to repeat myself."

"I intend to come back for my seventh year and sit my NEWTs, sir," she answered slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"You will not go off with Potter?'

She sighed. "I don't think so. Harry's my best friend, but I don't think that I could bear to go off like that. My education's too important for me."

He sneered. "As usual, Miss Granger, you fail to see the entire picture. If Potter does not defeat the Dark Lord, do you think passing eleven NEWTs is going to affect your survival chances?"

"Are you telling me not to finish my education, Professor?" she asked carefully.

"I am telling you to consider the future of the world, not simply yourself," he snapped. "Personally, I have no preferences at all."

She carefully refrained from sighing. He wasn't done, though. "If you do choose to return, however, you will find a spot as my assistant has opened up. I would advise you to take it."

"I would like that, sir."

She got up to leave, wishing that she could think of a way to thank him properly for everything he'd done for her. He'd taught her more in this one year than she had ever imagined learning, and accepting a position as his assistant didn't seem like enough.

"Do you want something more, Miss Granger?" he asked sharply.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for us this year," she said, secretly pleased at the thunderstruck expression that flickered across his face.

"I have done no more than any other year, Miss Granger."

"You taught me more than I could ever have hoped to learn on my own," Hermione pointed out.

"I am a teacher. I was simply doing my job."

"Even so, thank you." She walked out of the room before he could think of something else to say, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door, finally allowing a grin to spread over her face.


	25. 10: ending 2

_Author's note: -_Kyra has run away to hide herself in fright. She may or may not be back at the end of the chapter.-  
_Disclaimer: _-Kyra asks that you please cross apply all previous disclaimers to this chapter as well.-  
--This was a computer generated message--

* * *

Ron was angry. How _could_ Malfoy have been the one to find out what had happened to Harry? It should have been him or Hermione, who actually cared about Harry, not Malfoy, who hated him. Admittedly, Malfoy _had_ told Dumbledore right away about what had happened, but still… It irked him that Hermione kept defending him. She was supposed to be _his_ girlfriend, not Malfoy's! He shuddered convulsively at the thought of Hermione and Malfoy as an item, and hurriedly turned his thoughts back to packing for the summer.

He threw his things into his trunk, trying not to look at Harry's bed next to his. He obviously hadn't intended to be so badly injured, because all of his things were still there. Even the invisibility cloak was carefully folded under his pillow. Ron, feeling only slightly guilty about looking at his friend's personal things, moved over and looked into Harry's trunk. There was the usual mass of robes and muggle clothes for weekends, along with parchment, quills, and inkbottles. Ron pawed through those, making a note to put them back when he was done. Underneath all the clutter, Ron found a battered book. Curious, he opened it, and discovered a picture of Harry's parents. They looked incredibly young, and Ron realized with a start that they'd only been a couple years older than he was when Harry was born. The pictures moved in chronological order, from what was obviously a proposal to Harry's first birthday. It had only been a few months after that that Lily and James had been killed. Ron examined the couple, noting how in love they looked and how blissfully unaware they were of the tragedy that was lurking in their near future. It almost made him cry to see Sirius, still a free man and James' best friend, the best man at their wedding, and the Godfather to their first child. He wished that the pictures could speak, but they remained stubbornly silent.

Finally, knowing that there was more in Harry's trunk and wanting to look at it before his guilt got to him, Ron put the photo album on top of the mass of clothes and school supplies. A broken piece of mirror came to his fingers as he dug into the trunk again, and he looked at it for a long moment, wondering why Harry would have kept something like that. He wrapped it in a spare sock and put it back into the trunk. There wasn't much left, and Ron quickly passed over the letters. Many of them were from Sirius, and others were from him and Hermione. He didn't read them, only reaching in for the last time. His hand closed on a piece of parchment, and when he pulled it out, he realized that it was a picture of Harry. It was only of his face, but it was so detailed that, if it had been in color, Ron would have sworn that it had been a photograph. Curiously, he looked for an artist's signature. He didn't think that Ginny was that talented, though it could have been a charm. There it was! He squinted to make out the words at the very bottom of the picture.

_For Harry, so that you can see what I mean. Draco_

Ron's blood froze yet again. Idly, he wondered if it was possible for his blood to remain permanently frozen, but his mind quickly returned to the object at hand. Malfoy. No, not even. _Draco_. Harry was on first name terms with the git. And what did the message mean? So that you can see what I mean. Was it…?

Ron firmly shoved the thought out of his head. Harry was his best friend. He wouldn't do Harry the disservice of assuming something like… well, like _that_. Then again… No. Ron shoved the picture back into the trunk and dumped the clothes back on top of it. He resisted the urge to slam the lid as well. Instead, he retreated to his bed. He pulled the curtains so that he wouldn't have to look at the trunk, but it did no good. The picture was imprinted into his brain. He saw the image as clearly as though it was being held in front of his nose. Closing his eyes only made it worse.

Eventually, he did the only thing he thought would work. He grabbed his broom and stalked out of the dormitory. No one questioned him as he walked as fast as he could out to the Quidditch pitch. Once there, he mounted his broom and took off, trying to fly as fast and high as he could. He threaded through the goal posts, fiercely not thinking about anything but getting the maximum speed and agility out of his broom.

The distraction worked for a little while. Finally, though, he had to come back to Earth, as it were. He landed his broom and slowly, unwillingly trudged towards the castle. The exercise had dulled his thoughts slightly, and it was enough to be able to contemplate returning to Gryffindor tower. He didn't think he could bear the dormitory yet, but at least the common room didn't seem like such an uninhabitable place any more. He propped his broom against the wall and dropped into a chair, not sure if he wanted company or not. Hermione was gone, probably off working, he thought a little sourly. She would never stop working, even if the world ended. Though, he realized, if she _did_ stop working, then he would be really worried.

Eventually, he glanced at his watch and noted that he'd missed lunch. His mother would be coming to pick him, Hermione, and Ginny up in an hour and a half. His stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten, but he ignored it. He didn't want to move, not even to satisfy his hunger. And so he sat, looking moodily into the fire and not noticing as the common room slowly emptied and refilled, moving with a rhythm and pattern that was neither totally magical nor totally natural.

* * *

Ginny's mum picked them up promptly at four, just like she'd promised. She collected Harry's trunk as well, sweeping all of his things into it with an absent-minded attitude. She kissed the three teenagers, then moved off to exchange a few intense words with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Obviously, she'd won whatever argument they'd been having, because she looked marginally happier when she returned.

"Right," she said, determinedly cheerful. "Albus has given me permission to Apparate with the three of you, so come on." She led them out onto the grounds and passed the shield that kept the muggles out. Once they'd passed it, Ginny looked around. They hadn't left on the main path, and she realized that she didn't know where they were. It was an odd feeling, and it made her slightly uncomfortable. Apparently her connection with Dancing Moon didn't extend past the boundaries when it came to being at home in the forest. Her mum stopped in the shadow of two trees, and gave Harry's trunk to Hermione. "Just think of home, dears. Let me do all the work."

Ginny pictured the Burrow, and hoped that she was doing it right. She only had time to gasp at the awful _pulling_ sensation that filled her before she found herself stumbling to catch her balance on the lawn of her home. Hermione caught her, and Ginny smiled her thanks, thinking that Fred and George's Apparatuses had improved the process a lot. Her mum had taken Harry's trunk back, and she was leading the three students towards the house. "Come along!" she said, when she realized that they weren't following. Ginny started up the path, and Hermione and Ron followed. Ron lagged slightly, and Ginny wondered what was on his mind. She hadn't seen him since that morning, since before Dumbledore had given them all the news. It was Hermione who'd told Ginny, and she was almost certain that Hermione hadn't told her the entire story. Ginny had wanted to ask Ron, but she hadn't found him. Now, it was obvious that he didn't want to talk about anything at all.

In the front room of the house, all of her brothers were waiting. Hermione received hugs from everyone, as did Ginny, except from Fred and George, who gave them both candy instead. Ginny gave it back to them. She saw Ron slip up to his room as soon as he could, and Hermione get sucked into a conversation with her dad, presumably about some muggle technology or other. Ginny herself was starting to feel useless again. Fred and George had gone back to teasing Bill, and Charley was listening in to the conversation between her dad and Hermione. Her mum had vanished into the kitchen, and Ginny was left standing in the middle of the room. With a sigh, she took her trunk and began to drag it up the stairs. Halfway up, she realized where she was, and cast a levitation charm on it. That made the job much faster, and she was soon directing it to the foot of her bed. She would unpack later, when she'd had time to relax and take in the fact that she was home once again.

After about ten minutes, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Ginny called, wondering what her mother wanted. Her brothers never bothered to nock.

To her initial surprise, it was Hermione, not Molly Weasley who was waiting. Then, Ginny remembered that Hermione would by staying, and that this was where she always slept. "Do you mind if I put my stuff in here?" Hermione asked. "I can ask your mum for a bit of closet, but for now…"

Ginny grinned. "Go right ahead," she said. "And you can just hang your clothes in my closet. I don't have nearly enough stuff to fill it." Ginny gestured at her antique closet, which was only half full. "Mum inherited if from some relative or other, and it's not worth enough to sell."

Hermione nodded, and directed her trunk to land gently next to Ginny's. She opened it, and began to rummage through it. She came out with a type of notebook, one with a piece of metal twisted around and around through little holes on one side. Ginny looked at it curiously.

"It's called a spiral notebook," Hermione explained, seeing Ginny's look. "I use it as a diary."

Ginny looked at her sharply. She would never, ever write in a diary again, and she was instinctively mistrustful of any diary at all.

"It's completely non-sentient," Hermione assured her. "I bought it in a muggle store to make sure."

Ginny nodded, but she still wasn't quite relaxed around it. "I'll write in it outside, if it makes you nervous," Hermione offered, but Ginny shook her head.

"It's fine," she said. "I have to get used to it again sometime. May as well start with a safe one."

Hermione nodded, and pulled a long plastic tube out of the pocket of her bag. She pulled off the cap to reveal a point. She flipped open the spiral notebook and folded it in half, then put the point of the tube onto the paper. She began to write, and Ginny couldn't help watching her. Hermione wrote smoothly, unhurriedly, carefully chronicling the events of her life. Ginny wished that she were the same way. She always seemed to have to overburden everything with emotion and by the end, none of her words made any sense. Hermione seemed to be able to detach herself from her emotions, and Ginny wondered how she did it.

Finally, Hermione put down the tube. She looked up, and the two pairs of brown eyes met. Hermione grinned slightly and held out the diary. "Do you want to read it?" she asked.

The temptation was enormous, but Ginny shook her head. "No," she said. "Keep it private. Trust me, you never write the same way when you know that someone will be reading what you read."

Hermione shrugged, but Ginny thought that she looked relieved. Ginny didn't blame her. Before they could talk any more, Ginny's mum's voice carried up the stairs to them. "Girls! Come down quickly!"

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance, then pounded down the stairs together. They found the entire family, even Ron, crowded around the fire. Lupin's head was looking out at them. Ginny eyed him critically. He looked more tired than usual, and there were more lines on his face. Though she couldn't see his robes, she knew that they would be shabby and disheveled. His eyes were clear, though, and his voice sounded normal. "Hello Hermione, Ginny. As I was telling the others, the Healers at St. Mungo's have managed to stabilize him. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but he's out of immediate danger. They don't think that there was too much mental damage, though we won't know for sure until he wakes up. Just thought that I should let you all know."

Ginny's mum seemed to deflate a little at the end of Lupin's message. "Thank the Heavens," she breathed. "Remus, are you busy tonight?"

Lupin nodded. "Sorry Molly. You know I'd love to come over, but I have… a previous engagement."

Far from looking put out, Ginny's mum looked inordinately pleased. She nodded, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Well, it's about time!"

Lupin nodded to everyone, then vanished from the flames. Ginny's mum turned to the assembled Weasley clan plus Hermione. "This calls for a celebration," she announced. "Ginny, come help me prepare."

* * *

Magdalene Jones had been a Healer for all of her adult life. She'd seen horrific injuries, both to bodies and to souls, and she'd though that she had managed to close off her emotions. She'd trained for years beside Healer Gwendolyn, the best Healer of her generation, and the venerable Healer had taught Magdalene that to close herself off was the best thing that she could do, both for herself and her patients. Magdalene had learned well, and she'd developed practices to help her close herself off. There was only so far one could go, but as time went on, Magdalene had begun to wonder what would happen when she finally managed to separate herself from all emotion. Already, she could view the worst of the injuries without flinching, and she would do what needed to be done without thinking about who she was working on. This ability had quickly helped her rise to one of the most respected Healers in the building. Of course, her area of expertise made closing herself off much harder. Many Healers could afford to be completely closed off with their patients, but Magdalene didn't work with normal patients. She worked with children. No one else in St. Mungo's worked exclusively with children, and because of her training in the field, she was the youngest Master Healer in the building.

There were times when being a child Healer was a problem, though. To her came the youngest and most broken of the patients. She'd seen everything, from broken limbs to battered heads, to broomstick injuries, to children who were obviously abused. Those last were the hardest. She was unmarried, and she had no wish for children of her own, but all of her patients were like her own children while they were there. The accidents she could deal with. Those children were brought in by concerned parents, who worried and hovered and annoyed her with questions. But the abused, or battered children. They would be brought in by stern-faced Ministry officials, and they would leave without a word. Magdalene would be left alone with them, and it would hurt her heart. She didn't know how people could do that to children, and she hated the way the children would look at her in suspicion and fear.

She'd known who he was, of course. Everyone in the Wizarding World knew who he was. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The one who'd faced You-Know-Who as a child and survived. The one who, since then, had dealt with the ministry, the Daily Prophet, monsters, criminals, betrayal, gossip, lies, and, if what he said was true, You-Know-Who himself. He'd done more in sixteen years than most people did in sixty. He was a brilliant athlete, the youngest person to make it on to the Gryffindor Quidditch team in a century. He had loyal friends, and he was loyal to them as well. He was famous, and he didn't seem to care. It was enough to make anyone love him.

And there was his face. Magdalene had seen in everywhere, in books, in paintings, in the Prophet… Harry Potter was everywhere. Like everyone else in her generation, Magdalene had studied the pictures until she knew them by heart. There were his green eyes, breathtaking, even as a baby. She'd been captivated by them from the beginning, and she would take out pictures of him from the Prophet and study them. He was always looking straight at her, and she could never tell if the expression in them was one of congratulation, or of accusation. She wanted to know, and she was afraid to know, and she knew that she was acting like a silly teenager, but she didn't care.

So, when a redheaded Ministry official named Arthur Weasley had checked him into St. Mungo's, Magdalene had hoped that he would be given to her. Sure enough, Matron had taken one look at him and said, "This one's for Magdalene." And she'd promptly vanished back into her office. It was up to Magdalene to send him up to room 17 and examine him thoroughly. Mr. Weasley had said that he had been found in the catacombs of the Ministry, and that he was suffering from repeated bouts of a very high intensity Cruciatus curse. That much was plain to see. There were always some who would use the curse, and Magdalene had dealt with many cases over the years. None of them had been this bad, though, and as she carefully healed the smaller cuts and bruises, she wondered who would do this to a boy. A _child_, for Merlin's sake! The thought of the person who could do this made her sick.

Harry had obviously not had an easy time. He didn't regain consciousness, and his nights were plagued by nightmares. She'd taken to staying up with him, signing up for the night shift so that she could spend time with him. She wouldn't even bring a book or a magazine with her when she sat with him. She would watch him toss and writhe, and she would wince whenever he screamed. He screamed every night, and every night, he would break his voice down to a mere whisper. He never spoke, not until his voice was gone. When that happened, he would slump down and curl into a ball, and he would whisper, "Forgive me." Those were the only two words he ever said, and Magdalene wondered every night who he was asking. Maybe he was asking himself. Every night, though, it would break her heart. She knew children who'd gone through impossibly tough times, but he touched her deeply. Maybe it was his refusal to say anything else, or maybe just the emotion infused in his words. She wished she knew who he was asking, and she was afraid to know who he was asking. What did he think he'd done that needed forgiveness so badly? Children who had been abused thought that it was their fault sometimes, she knew, but once they were away from the abusive adult, they learned to accept that they were not at fault. Harry, though, didn't seem anywhere close to that realization. She told herself that he wasn't even awake yet, but his desperate whisper still cut her to the center of her very soul.

No one could touch him. She'd tried, at the beginning. When his nightmares came, she'd tried holding his hand and smoothing his hair away from his face, like she did with all the other children she looked after, but he didn't let her. Whenever someone came into contact with him, he would pull savagely away, and his dreams would be worse. She supposed that it made sense, if he'd been abused. Even if it had just been a curse, it would cause him to loathe human contact. Magdalene learned to keep her distance. For the tasks that should have required that she touch him, she came up with creative magical solutions that were neither easy nor fun nor professional, but that kept him calm. That was what was important, after all.

She was relaxing in the lounge, a steaming mug of tea in one hand, and a cheap romance magazine in the other, when Under-Healer Jamie, her flame-headed apprentice burst in. "Healer Magdalene!" he gasped.

She looked up, setting the magazine aside. "Calm down, Jamie," she ordered. "What's happened?"

He took a few gasping breaths, then said, in a more normal tone, "He's awake, Healer. The patient in room 17. Harry Potter."

Magdalene set her tea aside and nodded to the few other Healers who were in the lounge. "Thank you, Jamie," she said. She knew that he was expecting her to ask him to join her, but she didn't. She felt that this was something that she had to do alone.

He was sitting up, backed up into a corner. His eyes were wide and angry, and she could see a hint of a wild animal peeking through. His frame, which had lost much of its muscle tone during his stay in the hospital, was shaking slightly, but he didn't move as she shut the door carefully behind her. "My name is Healer Magdalene," she said gently, not coming any closer. "I won't hurt you. I want to help you. You're in St. Mungo's. You've been unconscious for two weeks."

He relaxed a little at the tone of her voice, and the wild animal look left his eyes. He looked around, then whispered, "Glasses."

She summoned them, and gently placed them on the bedside table. She didn't know if she could touch him yet, and she didn't want to risk traumatizing him again. He picked them up and placed them on his nose. He blinked slightly, readjusting to being able to see properly again, then said, "Thank you. How long?"

"Two weeks," she said again.

He processed the information, and she thought that she could see him putting it into context with what he remembered. She wanted to ask him what had happened so badly, but she held herself in check. He would tell her when he was ready, not before. Maybe he wouldn't ever tell her. She wondered how to get whoever he did choose to tell to tell her. Mr. Weasley had talked about fighting You-Know-Who, but that was almost certainly rubbish, even for Harry Potter. What would You-Know-Who be doing in the Ministry? For that matter, what had _Harry_ been doing at the Ministry?

"Who are you?" he asked.

His quiet voice dragged her back to reality, and she answered, "My name is Healer Magdalene." His voice didn't _sound_ like someone who had just been through trauma, she realized. He was controlled and courteous, even if he didn't say very much yet. She marveled at his strength of character.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions to find out the state of your mind. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "I understand." His voice was the same, cool and controlled, calm and quiet.

"Do you know who you are?" she asked him, wondering if it was an act.

"Harry Potter," he answered.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Hogwarts."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four."

"What does this say?"

"Magdalene Jones, child health specialist."

She nodded, satisfied. If there was any mental damage, it was minor. "Are you hungry?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Thirsty?"

He considered for a moment, then said, "Coffee?"

She hesitated. Patients weren't normally allowed coffee, but this was surely a special case. One mug couldn't do that much harm, could it? She took a deep breath, then conjured up a small mug. She put it on the bedside table as well, watching as he reached for it. He held it for a moment, letting the aroma of the bitter liquid calm him. He closed his eyes as he took the first sip, allowing a small smile to curve his lips. He didn't open them again until he'd taken several sips, and when he finally put the cup down again, the smile was gone.

"Do you want anything to do?" she asked hesitantly, disoriented by the look that she saw in his often-studied green eyes. "I know that it can be boring just staying here all the time."

"Can I write a letter?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

She looked at him in surprise. "Who do you want to write to?" she asked before she could stop herself.

His face closed again, and his eyes hardened. "A friend. If it's too much trouble, I don't mind waiting."

"No trouble at all," she assured him. "I'll be right back." She left the room, shutting the door behind her before slumping against the wall. What she saw in his eyes was scaring her. He might seem to be in control, and for the moment, he was. But she knew children like this, children who'd gone through terrible times. They buried themselves in their memories, or they wouldn't face them. He was doing neither. He was putting off facing them, true, but she knew that he knew that he would have to do it eventually. He had embraced a concept that most adults ran away screaming from. He wouldn't need any of her prepared speeches about letting it out and bleeding out the poison. He'd already heard those lectures, already knew what he had to do.

She became aware that she'd been out for a long time, and she shook her head, annoyed. There would be time to marvel at his strength of mind when she wasn't on shift. She hurried to the lounge and returned to his room with the items that he'd asked for. He thanked her politely, but she noticed that he waited until she'd left the room to begin writing.

* * *

Gradually, Magdalene got to know her teenage patient. He never spoke about himself, never anything about his school or his friends, but he was intelligent, and listened with interest to her stories about her life and her job. He still wouldn't let anybody close, but he was slowly getting strong enough to do some of the simple things himself, and it was getting easier every time. He took all of the potions that she gave him without complaint, except for the dreamless sleep.

"I have to learn to face them someday," he told her firmly, the third time he refused to take it.

"You have to get better first," she snapped, out of patience.

"I have to do both. I won't get better until I face them."

She threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine! Whatever you say. But next time you have a nightmare, don't come crying to me!"

"I won't," he assured her simply, and she immediately regretted her temper.

"Harry," she said gently. "If there's anything that you want, just know that I'm here."

He nodded, but didn't take her up on her rather blunt hint. She sighed. He always seemed to ignore her hints, just as he appeared not to realize that she was about to die of curiosity. He never said anything at all, and the only thing she had to go on was his broken whisper from the nights. If anything, that made her even more desperate to know what had happened to him. Surely, if it was _that_ traumatic, he would need someone to talk to! But he didn't, and she was reduced to eavesdropping on his nightmares in the hopes of finding out more about what had happened. So far, she hadn't found out anything.

Jamie liked him too. Magdalene knew that her apprentice was worried about taking on a full Healer's role, and she hoped that the relationship that he was developing with Harry would convince him that he was fully capable. Harry wouldn't tell Jamie anything either, and, to Magdalene's annoyance, Jamie didn't seem to mind nearly as much as she herself did.

"He doesn't really know us," he said in the lounge one day, trying to explain. "He doesn't see us as friends."

She started to protest, but he stopped her. "I know that he should, but he doesn't. Healer Magdalene, can you imagine what he's been through?"

"No!" she said. "That's my problem! I don't know, and so I can't relate to it."

"Maybe he doesn't _want_ us to relate to him. Maybe that's the point. If we don't know what happened, we can't pity him."

"How can he think that we would pity him?" she demanded, horrified at the very idea. She'd been trained never to pity her patients, just as all Healers were. Pity wouldn't endear them to their patients, and nothing any Healer could say would alleviate the pain brought on by pity.

"He doesn't know us," Jamie repeated. "If you'll excuse me, Healer." He left on an errand or other, and she was left with a profound sense of unease.

Finally, she judged that Harry was strong enough to have a few visitors. She contacted the family of the man who'd found him, and told him that Harry could have two visitors. To her surprise, they weren't Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Two teenagers, the same age as Harry, arrived at the front desk and were directed to room 17. Healer Magdalene let them in, then retreated. She watched them through the window, seeing how Harry wouldn't let them touch him either. The sound of their conversation leaked through, and she couldn't help listening in.

"We've been worried about you, mate," the boy said.

"Everyone was thrilled when you woke up," the girl added.

Harry looked at both of them. "Are both of you staying at the Burrow?"

The girl nodded. "Mrs. Weasley talked to my parents, and they agreed that I should stay with Ron's family until we were sure you were safe. They like you a lot, and they were really worried."

"We were all really worried!" the boy added. "You scared us pretty badly!"

Harry sighed. "Sorry," he said quietly.

The boy looked a little annoyed. "Why didn't you tell us that you were going?" he demanded.

"You know where I was? How?"

The two visitors exchanged a glance. Then, the girl said, "Malfoy. He got one of his friends to look for you in her Orb, and they went to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "Where is he?"

"Malfoy?" the boy demanded.

Harry nodded again.

The girl frowned. "We don't know. No one's seen him since the end of school."

Magdalene wasn't sure if it was only her imagination, but she thought that she saw Harry's shoulders slump a little. He didn't let on that he was disappointed, if he was, and there was a long moment of slightly tense silence. Then, the redheaded boy blurted out, "Why didn't You-Know-Who kill you?"

Magdalene frowned, wondering just what kind of question that was. She remembered days of watching Harry's face close at the merest mention of anything that had happened to him, and prepared herself to go in and intervene if she was needed.

Harry shrugged, obviously struggling not to push them too far away. "I don't know," he said. "It's not like he didn't try, after all."

The girl frowned. "Harry," she said dangerously.

He sighed. "Look, I don't know, all right? He tried to possess me again, and then he left. I don't _know_ why!"

A speculative look passed over the girl's face. "What were you thinking about when he tried to possess you?"

Harry's face closed instantly, and he renounced all efforts not to push them away. "Not screaming," he said bluntly. Even Magdalene could tell that it was a lie.

"What else?" the boy pressed. Apparently he realized what the girl was thinking. "You remember last year? Dumbledore told you that he couldn't possess you because of love. Maybe that's it."

"He's wrong," Harry said flatly. "Maybe Voldemort just got bored."

"You went to save Malfoy's parents, didn't you?" the girl asked suddenly.

"And?"

"Well, why did you do it?" the boy demanded.

"Because they were in danger," Harry snapped. "Did you expect me just to sit there and watch him kill them without even trying to help?"

"They would have done that if it had been you," the boy pointed out.

"And? Are you saying that I should descend to their level?" Harry demanded, his voice icily dangerous.

"No, of course not!" the girl said hastily. Obviously she recognized the danger signs as well as Magdalene did. "I was just wondering, that's all."

"Well there's your answer," Harry said sulkily.

She didn't say anything more, but Magdalene was sure she saw a triumphant expression flicker across the girl's worried face. They spent another few minutes in stiff silence, then Magdalene judged that enough time had passed, and she ushered the two out. She thought privately that they looked slightly relieved. She didn't blame them.

"When will we be able to see him again?" the boy asked.

She frowned. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "I'll floo your house when you can."

The girl nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Magdalene answered, and escorted them back down the stairs.

They came again, and as Harry recovered, more people came with them. She couldn't help noticing that, though he was glad to see all of them, none of them seemed to be the one that he wrote to every morning. He never posted his letters, and everyone had learned not to ask about them. Still, Magdalene was glad that he was willing to talk to them all, even if he still wouldn't let anyone touch him. Many of the adults who came to see him seemed to know what had happened, and they would ask him questions, trying to catch him off balance. He never took the bait, and the adults would leave rather frustrated. Magdalene sympathized immensely.

He'd been awake for over a month when the blond boy arrived. He came alone, and the welcome witch told Magdalene later that he seemed nervous. He was very clear about who he wanted to see though, and she gave him directions to Harry's room. He met Magdalene coming out of the room. "Can I go in?" he asked quietly.

Magdalene was about to refuse, but she caught the look on his face. He seemed almost desperate, and she gave in. "Be quick," she said, nodding towards the door.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, and he slipped easily through the door.

She moved quickly to her window and cast a listening charm. She felt bad about spying on them like this, but she just had to know.

Harry looked up from his parchment as the door closed, and his face stilled. "Draco?" he whispered.

Draco crossed the room and dropped into the chair next to Harry's bed. "Of course."

"I waited for you," Harry whispered.

"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly. "I… I didn't know if you still wanted me."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"It's my fault that you're here."

Harry shook his head firmly. "No. Draco, it's not your fault. It's _his_. His and mine. I chose to go, didn't I?"

"They were my parents."

"That's not your fault."

Draco looked down, and the forlorn look on his face made Magdalene want to cry. "I feel so guilty," he murmured.

Harry looked at Draco. His face was anguished, and Magdalene knew that she was finally going to find out what had happened to him. She held her breath, straining to hear everything that he said.

"I'm the guilty one, Draco. I couldn't save them."

Draco started to open his mouth, but Harry stopped him. "Please," he said, and Draco nodded. "I tried, Draco. I really did. He told me, when I arrived. He told me that I had come too late. They were there, Draco. Both of them still alive. He tortured them in front of me. I couldn't do anything. He… he _laughed_. He told me that I could kill your mother. I refused. I was strong enough to do that, at least. He put the curse on me, and he made me point my wand at her. I almost did it, Draco. I…I _wanted_ to do it. I wanted to say the words and kill her. He… he said that I wanted to do it. He was right."

Harry was crying, and Draco reached over and touched his hand. Harry gripped it tightly. Magdalene gasped. _No one_ could touch Harry! Yet here he was, holding this boy's hand voluntarily, clinging to it as though it was the only thing that connected him to the real world. The shock almost made her miss Draco's next words.

"It wasn't you," Draco said soothingly. "It was him. He made you want to. It wasn't you." His other arm had snaked around Harry's back, and the pale teenager held Harry as he wept.

"How can you be so sure? I wanted to kill her so _badly_, Draco. But… but I didn't." He sounded almost like a small child when he said that, puzzled that he'd gotten an answer wrong. "He cursed me so hard. I screamed. I still scream. I can hear him, Draco. In my head. He's always there. He's always with me, and he's trying to get me to go with him. One day, I won't be strong enough to resist."

"I'll help you," Draco promised. "Always. When we swore, in the classroom, I meant it. I will always be there for you, Harry."

Harry reached out blindly, and Draco took his other hand. The blond teenager leaned into the contact, as though trying to absorb all of Harry's problems himself.

"It hurts," Harry whispered. "Gods, Draco. It still hurts so damn much."

"I know," Draco agreed. He slipped out of the chair and onto the bed, gathering Harry into him. Harry clung to him, shaking. Draco was running his hands over Harry's back, murmuring soothing words that Magdalene couldn't understand and didn't want to. There was only so much she was willing to eavesdrop on.

"They're all there. Not just _him_. All of them. Your parents, mine. Sirius. Cedric… all of them."

Draco lifted an ironic eyebrow. "And what do my parents have to say?" he asked dryly.

Harry managed a weak chuckle, though he didn't lessen his grip on the other boy. "They're rather incoherent," he said.

Draco opened his mouth, the closed it again. A horrified look had come across his face. "Are they… I mean, can he… _see_?"

Magdalene had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but Harry obviously did. "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

Magdalene could see that the dynamics of the duo had changed. Draco was still supporting Harry, but the black-haired boy was also holding Draco, comforting him, transmitting strength and reassurance. She had to admit respect for the strength of their love. Few parings could give each other comfort simultaneously. They obviously cared deeply about each other, and they communicated without needing to say a word. A gesture, a touch, even just a thought… they were transmitting and receiving instinctively, without either one realizing what they were doing. Magdalene felt uncommonly jealous. Did they realize just how precious that kind of love was?

Draco leaned over suddenly, and gently placed his mouth over Harry's. The two stilled, completely unaware that they were being watched. Magdalene was transfixed by what she saw. She couldn't look away, couldn't close the scene out. She had to know how it ended.

Harry pulled away first. His green eyes were very sad, but determined as well. "Draco, stop."

Draco pulled back instantly. "What's wrong, Harry?" he asked anxiously.

"We can't."

There was slightly panicked look in Draco's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Draco, we can't. I love you, Draco. I don't want anything to happen to you. We don't know if they can see through me. Or if you'll be forced to join. We can't know. If we stay together, Voldemort will come after us. After _you_. I can't bear to risk you. I… I would die if you did."

"Harry," Draco whispered, helplessly.

"Forgive me," Harry whispered, and Magdalene finally knew just who he'd been talking to all those nights. She made no effort to curb the tears that filled her eyes.

"Always," Draco promised. He moved in to kiss Harry again, then thought better of it. Gently, he extracted his hands from Harry's. "If you change your mind," he whispered, letting the sentence hang. He stood and moved quickly to the door. Magdalene ended the spell and turned away from the window, but not soon enough to avoid seeing Harry curl up in his corner, tears streaming down his own face.

_Fin

* * *

Author's note two: Kyra is still too scared of what you will all say to write an A/N, so she's left it up to me. All I can say is that I had my reasons for demanding that we end it this way, and that I hope you understand. (And, of course, that I am very sorry if I am misjudging you all. I would love to rub into Kyra's face that there wasn't actually anything to be afraid of...  
Let's see, what else? Uh, many thanks go to Jaycinthe Bleu's story _The Sliver Swan_, which can be found at witchfics(dot)com. It is one of our favorite stories, and it has nothing to do with our knowing the author. Many thanks also go to all of you, our wonderful readers and reviewers. You have provided us with so much insight into this story that it's absolutely mind-boggling. We're honored that you like this, our first real effort at a long fanfiction, this much. Thank you for your support and your patience with us. We would love to name you all, but there are far, far too many of you. You know who you are!  
Again, thank you to everyone,_  
_--Tamara_

**Caroline here. Before you go, we would ask that you please complete this short reader survey:  
1. Does this story need a sequel?****  
2. If you answered yes to the previous question, when should the sequel be set?  
3. If you answered yes to question one, should the sequel be writen and posted before Emerald Fog itself is revised?**

**Thank you for you time and cooperation.**


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